100 Sanguine Songs
by Moksgmol
Summary: 100 oneshots inspired by amazing songs and Jane and Lisbons' relationship. NOT songfics . Every chapter is different; some are episode tags, some are completely original. Romance isn't a focus every chap, but I'm sure it will be in some. Please enjoy!
1. Angels on the Moon

'_Don't tell me if I'm dyin'/ '__cause I don't wanna know'_

_Episode Tag: Carnelian Inc._

Jane guided his Citroën through another sun-drenched valley, humming happily along with the jazz tunes coming from the speakers. He shot Lisbon, who had been gazing pensively out the window since they'd started heading back to CBI headquarters, a decisive look before speaking.

'You're okay.'

She started a bit, whipping her head towards him, 'What?'

He smiled at her before looking back to the road; her face remained bewildered.

The silence stretched on and Lisbon knew that he was waiting for her to break it. She bit her lip, unsure of whether or not she wanted to play his game, but her curiosity got the better of her rather quicker than she would have liked.

'Fine, Jane, I'll ask again: _what_ are you talking about?'

'No need to get touchy, woman,' Jane said calmly, but Lisbon could tell that he was pleased to have made her respond, 'I simply stated that you're fine.'

There was a stiff silence for a moment before Jane spoke again, suddenly much more serious, 'I saw your face when Jesse Skelling took off her wig. It surprised me, I'll admit, but it really rattled you.'

He had nailed the root of Lisbon's contemplation squarely - had he not she would have been able to respond, to brush him away before he really found her out - but as it was she couldn't find her tongue to form words.

She gave a soft little 'oh' instead, which Jane didn't think she was even aware of vocalizing, but it confirmed for him that he was on the right path. Another glance towards her made him frown - her eyes were distant; she was far away - and he gently guided the car to the side of the road. He killed the engine and turned to face her; when she didn't react to his stare he reached for her hand.

She flinched at the contact and he tightened his hand around hers before she could pull away. He wasn't sure what to do with her for a moment - she had faced messy crime scenes; sick individuals; had taken down perpetrators more than twice her size, all without batting an eye - but he had never seen her shaken, least of all to this degree.

She looked up at him before he had decided on what to do, her gaze locking onto his before she spoke.

'Let's just keep going, Jane.'

He knew he was losing her and took a risk that even he wouldn't normally take, crossing a line that he wasn't sure he'd be able to step back over.

'Teresa,' he said softly, reaching forward with his free hand to lay it on her shoulder. She trembled slightly under his touch and he desperately wanted to hug her but he knew that moving any closer than he already was would cause her to completely close off to him.

'I-' she started, stuttering, 'I just don't want... I just want it to be quick! I don't want to know that, that I'm... for _months_; I just...'

She trailed off, unable to find the right words, dancing around others, and she looked away from his concerned visage; Jane felt a pull on his heartstrings that he couldn't quite place and suddenly knew exactly what to do. He stepped in to rescue her, the hand on her shoulder moving quickly up to her face, the pad of his thumb wiping away a tear from her cheek.

'You're fine.'

'What are you now, a doctor?'

He knew that it was a defense mechanism, that she was trying to make face, but he couldn't help but smile at the sarcasm that laced her tone; this was the Lisbon he knew, 'Nah... I really am a psychic. Just don't tell Van Pelt; she's still much too fun to mess with.'

She laughed at this, the corners of her eyes crinkling in the most wonderful way, and Patrick felt himself responding in kind.

'Come on; let's go,' he said, clicking open his door.

'Where? We're in the middle of nowhere, Jane!'

He grinned at her, 'I'm hungry-'

'Of course you are,' she said, rolling her eyes.

'-and there's this cute little farmer's market that we passed on the way up here. I'll buy you some strawberries.'

She smiled and moved to get out of the vehicle – of _course_ Jane knew that strawberries were her favourite fruit - but he reached out a hand for her own one last time.

'For whatever it's worth, it would be just as bad for me whether it was quick or slow. But… you're fine, alright?'

She stared at him, time seeming to stretch on forever, before nodding and responding in a whisper, 'alright.'

_Okay, hope that you all enjoyed that! Just loved that scene in the episode; everyone seemed so raw and open for a change, haha._

_Anyhow, here is my goal with this: I'm aiming for 100 (that's right folks, the big one-zero-zero) unrelated one-shots (I'm sure that a couple will end up tied to each other, though; I'll let you know). Each will be at least 500 words and will be focused on Jane and Lisbon, though not necessarily romantically. Lastly, every chapter will be inspired by a song, but they will NOT be songfics. The lyrics will not be interspersed throughout the writing; there will only be the specific lyrics used to inspire the writing located at the start of the chapter. The lyric will then be properly cited at the bottom of every chapter, very last thing. I will be _citing_(as one would a direct quote in a paper and with apa formatting), not simply _copying_. 's guidelines specify to not copy, which I am not doing if I properly cite my resources. If anyone reading this story has any concerns regarding this please contact me and I will address the issue. Please keep in mind that many famous authors use quotations from songs and other written works in their own writings; I only wish to include music, which is a big part of my life and something I find very inspiring as a writer, as a part of another of my passions._

_Hope that you enjoyed this and I look forward to working on this fic in the future._

_Ciao, Moksgmol_

Lyrics from: Jason, S.; Stroope, C. (2003). _Angels on the Moon_. Thriving Ivory (CD). Wind-Up Records


	2. Secret Life

_'Hangs up her coat like always/ wouldn't have it any other way'_

Jane was laying on his couch when Lisbon arrived, moving swiftly past him without a word. He sat up, thinking that perhaps she hadn't noticed him - or more likely that she was ignoring him - only to catch sight of her entering her office and giving her coat rack just as cold a blow-off.

Jane knew then that something was wrong: Lisbon always hung up her jacket, even if she knew they would be leaving quickly… it was an integral part of her morning routine. They all had one - Van Pelt fixed her coffee just right; Cho finished a chapter in his current novel; Rigsby turned any leftovers in their fridge into a second breakfast; and Jane always lay on his sofa, taking all of it in.

Of course, he always liked to take a break from that activity to toy with the others, and he prided himself on his track record when it came to most members of the team. He'd once had Grace so riled she'd skipped adding cream to her coffee and had taken it black to avoid spending any more time near him; had once engaged Cho in conversation until Lisbon had started their morning briefing, effectively preventing him from reading and earning a scowl; his favourite had been the time he had removed every bit of food from the fridge before Rigsby had gotten there. The dirty look the agent had graced the empty fridge with had been priceless.

He had yet, however, to break Lisbon's routine. He had tried to dissuade her path to her office and fluster her; had moved the coat rack to various places both inside and out of her area; he had even gone as far as to turn up the air conditioning in her office, but all to no avail. She was like a train on its tracks when it came to that damn rack.

But she had just jumped off of those rails on her own, and Patrick Jane wanted to know _why_.

He shadowed the path she'd taken to her office, leaning on the doorjamb and flashing her his brightest smile, 'What's up, Lisbon?'

She looked up at him with a glower, "_What_ Jane?'"

He raised his eyebrows but kept up his grin, "Just wondering what has you so cheery this morning."

He could swear that she actually growled at him, "_Someone_, Jane, decided to try and drive Van Pelt's decidedly _large_ car into mine. And because of that I had to walk home last night and then into work this morning in this stupid cold snap."

He blinked in surprise; apparently she hadn't known about her car before she had left the previous night, all pleased that he could see again. Whoops. But really, how could he have known whose cars he had hit; he _had_ been blind at the time. You'd think she would be a tad more understanding, really.

"I'd have given you a ride, you know."

He'd have been a smoldering pile of ash if looks could kill.

"_Your phone was off_."

"Ah. Would you like me to hang your coat up for you?" she shot him a look as cold as ice, "Well then... I'd best be going," and he scurried out of the room, letting her think that she had scared him out.

But as soon as his back was turned his smile returned... he had finally shaken her out of her steadfast routine, albeit a little indirectly.

_Victory_, he thought, as he gave a wary Cho a high-five and prepared Grace's coffee for her.

--

The rest of the day, however, was exactly the opposite of a victory for Jane. He managed to get punched in the nose three times; to be wrong on two pivotal points in the case; and worst of all, Lisbon hadn't given the tiniest flicker of sympathy in his direction.

Even the time his nose had bled, no matter how much he had pouted in her direction, she had remained stoic… and that was when he was positive that karma was getting at him. By the end of the day he had a plan… not that he had much of a choice in the matter.

--

The next morning Jane was sitting up on his couch, anxiously awaiting the arrival of his boss. She came in, and he stood up to follow her as she passed, stopping in her doorway and watching as she moved to sit in her chair.

"Yes Jane?"

He gave her a grin, "Your coat?"

She raised an eyebrow at him.

He held out a hand to her, palm up, and elaborated, "Want me to hang up your coat for you?"

"Why?"

"Well, it's really awfully warm in here."

"Says the guy in the three piece suit."

He cleared his throat and gave her a bit of a sheepish grin, "Well, you know… please?"

She frowned, reaching up to unbutton her jacket, "Sure, Jane, whatever."

He almost leapt forward in his haste to grab the garment, before carefully positioning it on the rack, much to her amusement.

"Well, there we are," Jane turned back to her, "And, of course, good morning, Lisbon; I'll see you at the briefing.'

She gave him a confused look, a smirk still firmly gracing her lips, watching him walk out the door past the now-adorned coat rack.

--

Jane lay down along his couch with a contented sigh; today would be good, he was sure. There was no way he'd mess with Lisbon's morning routine again.

A growl of surprise and frustration echoed from the kitchen.

Rigsby, on the other hand, was a completely different matter.

_There, chapter two done! Three is mostly completed too, but I figured that I would get something a little happier up before I post it, because it's oh-so-angsty. Hope that you enjoyed this one; the support and reviews I've gotten thus far have been great! And I agree with those who commented on traditional songfics… they can be really, really cheesy, haha. Really, though, thanks for liking the idea; I didn't mean to come down hard last chapter, I just don't want anyone to take the lyrics the wrong way and have this deleted. I changed up the dialogue markers this time; last time was just me being lazy and avoiding the shift key. Oh, and I've decided that every chapter will be named after the song I used, just for ease of remembering what chapter was what (though I'm sure some songs will be used more than once)._

_Thanks again! Love, Moksgmol_

Lyrics from:

Thriving Ivory. (2003). _Secret Life_. Thriving Ivory (CD). Wind-up Records.


	3. Twilight

_'I remember driving home/ this ain't gonna hit me 'till God knows when'_

Lisbon tossed her purse into her SUV, stepping up into the vehicle and letting her body sink slowly into the seat. She automatically reached a hand over and pulled the door towards her, taking comfort from the familiar thunk it made as it shut. She sat for a moment, forcing tears back before she jammed her key in and turned on the engine, listening to the reassuring rumble before releasing the handbrake and pulling out of the parking lot, silencing Jane's favourite radio station with a flick of her fingers.

She drove home on autopilot, weaving her way through traffic slowly until she reached her apartment, climbing up the stairs and into her place. She pushed thoughts of the day away, trying to focus on the process of making dinner, not letting her mind stray beyond the confines of the routine that she was trying to turn into a distraction.

She chewed through dinner, head down, for once leaving both the television and radio off while she ate, half-expecting to hear the phone ring. She finished though, the silence still unbroken, and she stood to clean up with a cautious look towards the device.

She brought her dishes to the sink slowly, filling it with steaming water and suds, letting her hands gingerly into it gloveless, biting her bottom lip at the heat but enduring it. She anticipated the ring now that the moment was less opportune, but still the telephone stayed silent.

She sat on a hard kitchen chair for half an hour once she'd finished washing, letting the dishes air-dry while she watched her phone from across the rom. She eventually stood up and put away the tableware before moving from the kitchen to the bedroom, gathering her clothing and heading on to the bathroom for a shower. She shed her clothing gradually, letting the water reach a scalding temperature before easing herself under the spray.

The liquid soaked her hair, rolled down her back; she closed her eyes and tried to relax, but her shoulders remained knotted. Tears threatened to fall for a second time but she suppressed them; it didn't matter that they would be unnoticeable in the falling water. It was now, fighting the burning in her eyes, that she let her mind travel back over the day.

And suddenly she was tripping out of the shower, over the edge of the bath; stumbling towards the toilet and falling forward to retch.

The phone chose that moment to ring and she choked on a sob, her feet moving out of the bathroom, fingers reaching for the damn thing even though it was the last thing she wanted to do. Not now that she was falling apart… _any_ time but now.

She picked it up anyways but didn't speak; she knew that he could hear her ragged breaths.

"Lisbon?"

She croaked his name, her voice breaking on the syllable.

"Let me in; I'm at the entrance."

She fumbled to hang up, her finger pressing the button down, before heading back towards the bathroom for some clothing; for a semblance of normalcy.

She found herself back over the toilet instead, now down to bile rather than dinner. She heard a knock before her door opened; she wasn't surprised in the least at the fact that Jane somehow had gotten a copy of her key.

All of the sudden he was behind her, and the feeling of his comforting fingers on the small of her back reminded her that she was naked.

But instead of caring she simply leaned forwards, heaving, words barely discernible between the coughing and crying.

"Oh, god, Jane, we…. we…"

"Hush," Jane whispered, managing to find an elastic in a cupboard under the sink and pulling her hair gently back into it. His other hand moved up to her shoulder blades, rubbing calming circles.

Her back stayed tight under his hands and she began to shake, a cold sweat filming her skin; he could feel it underneath his palm. He made another shushing noise as she leaned back, and he reached behind them for a towel to wrap around her quaking form.

"Ja-ane-" she forced out, voice cracking, and he felt his heart break a little.

"Shhhh."

"But-"

"I know," he murmured as she leaned against him, her back to his front, "I know."

He wrapped both his arms and the towel around her; she was slowing to a tremble at his touch, her breath still shuddering.

"Some days it's tough; we do our best. You know that."

He felt her jerky nod; she opened her mouth but the only thing she could form was another sob.

He kissed the top of her head, breathing in her soap, "Yeah. I know."

_There; chapter three! Thanks for all of the great reviews; they make my day… and of course, more are always welcome! Next chappie should have some good ol' fashioned Jane angst for a change (even though I am partial to being a little mean to poor Lisbon; I just think that she's fascinating). And to Ebony10: yep, 100 is quite a few, my goal for the summer, haha. Love your 30 chapter fic; I'll write you a proper review one of these days, I swear! And I adore Jewel too; I def. plan on using her work in the future. I'll leave you to that particular idea for now, but if you're interested I might take song requests at some point in the future (who knows, maybe I'll do a fic that's completely requests after this one, haha). _

_Thanks again to everyone; you're all so supportive and lovely! –Moksgmol_

Lyrics From:

Thriving Ivory. (2003). _Twilight_. Thriving Ivory (CD). Wind-up/ Wolfgang Records


	4. Steady Now

_'Steady now/ we're in this together/ steady tonight.'_

Jane let himself slowly into his home, pausing in the stillness of the hallway. He waited for a time, the silence stretching, and he swore that he could almost hear the dust motes that were dancing through the shafts of moonlight.

His house just shouldn't be this still.

With a cry of anger and frustration he whirled, kicking over the umbrella stand beside him so hard that it skittered away from him, its contents scattering across the floor. He glared at it, breathing hard, before moving deeper into the house, not bothering with the mess. He made his way into the kitchen, but knew that he wouldn't be staying there long. He couldn't avoid the room on his good days; there was no way he could ignore its pull on such a terrible one.

And so, less than fifteen minutes later, he found himself up one floor and at the end of a hallway, his hand reaching out for the doorknob, palm clammy at the memories the action brought. He swore that in the darkness he could almost make out the words of that note, burned into the wood of the door. No, that wasn't right... burned into his brain, his very retinas, forever.

The stale air was familiar and he stood at the entrance, staring into the room's dark depths. The face, somehow clearly visible in the pitch black, gazed back at him in return, and he ran the day over in his head for the umpteenth time.

Another. _Damn_. Copycat.

But this one was better than most; he had even tricked Jane for a while. That scum of a man had put them all on the ropes; had forced Lisbon and Jane apart, because she couldn't trust Jane not to do as he'd promised to do to his family's killer. But then they'd gotten the call from the real Red John, his laughter no less chilling for being through the microphone of Jane's cell phone, and that had been the end of it. The team caught the right man, but he wasn't _the_ man.

Lisbon hadn't said much to him after the case. She had simply continued to work as professionally as always, as though it had been any other work day. Grace had shot him a sympathetic look along with Rigsby; Cho had given him a pat on the back; but the team had followed their boss' lead. Jane would have expected no less of them.

He knew that Lisbon wouldn't bring it up it he didn't, but that she would be waiting after work as long as he was in the building to allow him the chance to do so. He left as soon as they had wrapped up the arrest, though; she needed to be at home unwinding a glass of wine and he had demons to face.

Not that he'd win.

He finally shook himself out of his thoughts, stepping into the room, one hand reaching down to run along the covers of what had once been their bed. He desperately wanted to lay there, to _smell_ her, what was left of her, but he couldn't bring himself to cover the fading remnants of his wife with himself. It was their bed; he didn't want it to be his alone. And so he simply sat down in the rocking chair they had placed in the room when their daughter was born, one hand rubbing a path along the coverlet absentmindedly, having a staring contest with blood red eyes.

His mobile rung, startling him out of his reverie, and he pulled it out of his pocket to see Lisbon's face looking back at him. He debated for a second whether or not he wanted to answer but he knew that she wouldn't stop calling. He gave in, pressing down the button to answer.

"Hello Lisbon," he whispered, trying to infuse his voice with his usual cheeriness.

"Jane."

He winced a little at her condescending tone, and was a bit more serious in response, "Yes?"

There was a pause in which he knew she was silently gathering herself, "Stop looking at that stupid smiley face, Jane."

He almost dropped the phone.

"Jane?" her questioning murmur gently prodded when it became apparent that he wasn't going to speak again without prodding.

He forced himself to corral his thoughts, trying to dissuade her, "W-what, Lisbon?"

There was a sigh on the other end of the line, "Look, Patrick, you don't need to lie about it. I get it, okay? I might not understand everything you do, but I definitely do know that you don't need to be doing this. So get up, pull your eyes away from the wall, leave the room and have some tea or something, okay? I need you at your best for the day that it is Red John."

Jane felt his throat close up and he couldn't think of anything to say to her. He pulled the phone away from his ear to prevent her from hearing his choking sob; waited for his hands to stop shaking and his breathing to even out before he looked down at the phone.

She was still there; maybe she knew him better than he had planned on letting her, then he thought she did. He stepped out of the room, closing the door and leaning against it before he raised the phone to his ear again.

"Lisbon?"

"That's better, Jane; I'll see you in the office tomorrow, alright? And don't worry; we'll catch this bastard one of these days. I promise."

He sighed into the phone, taking comfort in her steady tone, "Yeah. Goodnight, Teresa."

"Goodnight Patrick."

_Hope that you enjoyed this one! Sorry that it took so long; I couldn't quite find the lyrics I was looking for. The one I did end up using works alright, though. Next chapter should be a lighter one. Thanks for the reviews; more are always wonderful!_

_Ciao, Moksgmol_

Lyrics from:

Heath, Brandon. (2006). _Steady Now_. Don't Get Comfortable (CD). Reunion Records.


	5. Overrated

_'She calls herself Maria/ because she likes the name'_

They were sitting together in the team's dark SUV, the silence a cocoon around them. Lisbon's eyes were trained on their target - a rather inconspicuous looking house - determined that before the night was through they'd have their prime suspect found out.

Jane, on the other hand, was sure that this would be fruitless; he knew who the killer was and had tried to tell her, but Lisbon had refused to bend. She was determined that she would prove him wrong for once, and while he found it all very amusing he was starting to get bored. She wouldn't let him turn the radio on; he'd finished all of the food they'd packed; and he was positive, absolutely _positive_, that they wouldn't be getting any answers from this vigil.

He sighed dramatically, hoping to capture the vehicle's only other occupant's attention, and he was rewarded by a quick flicker of her eyes in his direction. Patrick smiled discretely to himself; she was fed up with waiting and would be ready to talk with him now.

"So, Lisbon."

She gave a slightly annoyed sigh, but he knew that she was faking it, "Yes, Jane?"

"Why the last names all the time? It's so... I don't know, so police-like."

She rewarded this comment with a blank stare, "Uh, Jane? We're _police_ officers."

"I know, and that's what's strange... you'd think that a team of individuals in such high-stress situations who have to trust each other to the degree we do would feel intimate enough to call each other by their first names."

She snorted and rolled her eyes, "Fine. How about the fact that it's more professional?"

"Ah. Good try, but that only works if you're putting a title in front of the last name. Want to try again?"

"No," Lisbon replied, turning back to the dark house.

Jane frowned, switching gears, "What's your middle name?"

"You tell me," Lisbon responded, not turning away from the window.

"Now how would I know that?" Jane pouted.

Lisbon sighed, deigning to look back over her shoulder at him, "Why do you need to know?"

Jane smiled, pleased to have her attention again, "In case I need to use a fake name with you in the future; you'll be more comfortable with a name you know."

"Why should I need to use an alias in an investigation; I show them my _badge_."

"Since when do I follow police rules?"

Lisbon sighed, "Just use Teresa then."

"Nah; I can't be consistent with using first names for the rest of the team. I'm just gonna have to use your middle name."

She frowned at him, 'Why exactly can't you be consistent with all of us?"

"Grace is a pretty name, but Wayne and Kimball are just... well, stupid names, to be honest."

Teresa blinked in surprise, surveillance completely abandoned, before giving a slow nod.

"It's Maria."

Jane beamed at her as Lisbon turned back to her stakeout.

_Not so sure if I got the point across on this one completely, but I like the concept. And I managed to delete my final edit, but I really wanted this chapter up, so I'll re-proof it again tomorrow. Hope that you enjoyed it all the same, though! The reviews have been great, more are always welcome and appreciated!_

_Love, Moksgmol_

Lyrics from:

Thriving Ivory. (2003). _Overrated_. Thriving Ivory (CD). Wolfgang Records.


	6. Angels on the Moon 2

_'If I can't see the sun/ maybe I should go'_

"Sir?"

Minelli looked up from his desk to see Agent Lisbon standing in the doorway, arms crossed and worrying her bottom lip.

"Yes, Agent Lisbon?"

"May I speak to you a moment?"

"Of course," he said, standing up to close the door behind her, "Have a seat."

She did, fidgeting a little with the hem of her suit jacket before clasping her hands tightly in her lap. Minelli retook his place behind his desk, giving her a frown; it wasn't like her to look so uneasy.

"What did you need, Agent Lisbon?" Minelli questioned, feeling that it was best to stick to formalities until he knew what was wrong. Perhaps something had happened with her family?

"I just... I've been thinking about Jane, and Red John, and... well, to be honest, Sir..." she trailed off a moment, giving him a squinty look as though unsure of how to present him with whatever was concerning her in the gentlest way possible. She couldn't find one, apparently, and opted for bluntness instead, "Has Jane told you what he plans to do to Red John if - _when_ - we come across him?"

He boss cleared his throat, his gaze flickering away from hers briefly.

Lisbon's own eyes widened in surprise, "You knew! You knew and you didn't tell me! I'm responsible for him and his actions; what the hell were you going to have me do in the situation where Jane makes a move to kill this man!"

Minelli forced himself to look back towards her, the guilt plain on his face, "You would have made the right decision. I would have been tough, but you would have made the right one."

Lisbon suddenly pushed herself up and away from his desk with both hands, stepping back in one swift motion, "You actually expected me to _shoot_ him? To shoot Jane! And then you were going to back me during all of the legal fallout, shuffle me along through the procedures, and in the end you'd have everything precisely the way you _planned_ it!?"

She was beginning to tremble with rage; her tone rising almost hysterically; breath becoming shorter and shorter.

"You would be protected-"

"_Jane would still be dead!_"

Silence hung in the air between them, tense and thick; Minelli finally broke it.

"Sit down, Agent Lisbon."

"No."

He blinked, astonished, never having expected insubordination from one of his best agents; the best, if he was completely honest. He was confident, though he'd never told anyone, that she would be filling in his shoes one day.

He switched tactics, trying to calm her down, "Teresa-"

She cut him off, "I said _no_. I will not sit down."

There was stillness in the office; Minelli noted distantly that she had stopped breathing so hard. Maybe she was calming down; thank god, because he wasn't really sure what to do with her. He'd never anticipated this situation.

And then she rocked his world.

She reached for her gun with steady fingers, and Minelli felt a catch in his chest, worried for a second that she was about to do something truly irrational. But no sooner had that thought passed through his brain she had placed the weapon on his desk with a thunk, her badge on top of it.

"I quit."

"What?" he gasped, looking up at her with his mouth open.

"You heard me."

"But _why_?"

"What Red John did isn't right. What Jane wants to do to him in return isn't right; it feels more right than what that bastard did to his family, but I can see that it isn't right. What you want me to do to Jane when he comes face to face with that man, though? That's just... wrong. And I refuse. I won't be your puppet, and I won't be the one to stop Jane. You'd fire me for not impeding him; even if you didn't, you'd stick me behind a desk forever. And I didn't sign up to be an agent to do that, I joined to do the right thing... truth be told, after this whole Red John thing, I don't know if being a cop is always the right thing. So I quit."

Minelli just stared at her, and she held his gaze.

"I'm sorry," he began, trying to gather himself, "If this is truly what you want, then so be it. Goodbye and good luck. Know that you'll always have a place in my unit, but also know that you'll have to abide by the decisions I make, whatever they are."

"I know that," Lisbon replied, purposely leaving out the 'sir' she normally would have ended with. They both noticed it's absence, "Goodbye to you too."

She turned at that, sweeping out the door and leaving her boss wondering where exactly he'd gone wrong.

--

Jane looked up as Lisbon stormed out of Minelli's office, her determined walk deteriorating with each step. She fled into her office, shutting the door quickly behind her, and the consultant could just make out her silhouette as she collapsed into the chair at her desk.

He gave her a couple minutes before wandering over and letting himself in. She started when he entered, trying fruitlessly to wipe the tears from her cheeks before he could notice.

He gave her a soft smile, slightly confused, closing the door behind him and moving forward to take a seat on the edge of Lisbon's desk.

"What, Minelli wear too much of his eye-watering cologne today?"

She offered him a watery chuckle, "No; I quit."

Jane felt the shock register on his face before he could hide it. He stayed silent, though, watching as she got up and started moving about the room, herding all of her belongings to the top of her desk. He waited until she was taking down the last trace of her in the room, a certificate of completion from police academy, to speak.

"Why?"

She paused, her hand resting on the frame, a wistful look in her eyes, "Because of you."

"Me?" Jane is having a tough time with all the surprises; after all this time together he had figured that he her knew her a tad better than she's proving.

"Yeah," she says, almost in a whisper, before pulling the credential off the wall and turning to face him, "I wanted to be a police officer to help people. But then you came along and told me what you're going to do to Red John, and now I just don't know what to do."

He frowned, "What do you mean? You'll be the good cop and I'll be the rogue consultant."

She gave him a small smile, "That's the thing, Jane, I don't think that I'll be able to be the agent that I have to be in that situation. I can't help him and not help you, but at the same time…"

Her voice faded and she let the frame in her hands draw her attention again, running her hand along its face.

Jane could feel a faint burning sensation in the back of his eyes and throat; definitely allergies. He coughed slightly to steady his voice before resting a gentle hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him, eyes speaking volumes.

"Thanks."

She nodded, "You're welcome. But you knew it was coming, didn't you?"

He gave her a sad look, "Not really. Thought about the situation once, but I was kinda focused on the Red John portion of the fantasy. Hope that you're not offended."

She shook her head, "No; that's perfectly understandable."

He was glad that she partook in his attempt at their usual banter, "Would you like a tea?"

"I think that I just want to clean up in here for a bit. Maybe later."

"You want me to go?"

She paused a minute before responding, "No, that's alright. You can stay if you'd like."

"I would."

He settled on her desk to watch her pack, and if he perhaps handed her a tissue or two and a cup of tea to console her over he wouldn't ever tell a soul.

_Wow, longest one yet! I really like this one; hope that my point came across alright. Your reviews were wonderful as always, and more are always welcome! Almost at 50 reviews! I was messing with the tense a little a the end; if any of it's wrong I'll fix it tomorrow... I have to go study for a final right now, blah. Just wanted to get this up before I started on that _:)

_Love, Moksmgol_

Lyrics from: Jason, S.; Stroope, C. (2003). _Angels on the Moon_. Thriving Ivory (CD). Wind-Up Records


	7. Better than Alone

_'I'd one of those bad dreams/ yeah, I woke up in a sweat (sweat)'_

They were on their way back from questioning witnesses in the country, a far drive from the CBI building. Jane was humming happily along with the radio, feeling wide awake as he usually did at night; Lisbon on the other hand was fast asleep against the passenger-seat window. He shot her a brief look, smiling at the site of her body slumped to the side; she was going to have a horrible crick in her neck when she woke up.

He didn't wake her though; he was much too pleased that she was relaxed enough in his presence and car to fall asleep at all. In the beginning of their relationship she had been guarded, nervous at letting him into her space or to truly see her. He was almost surprised at how far she had come in such a short time, case and point by her current actions: she never slept in cars, no matter how far or long they were traveling. Dozed a bit, sure, but honestly out cold like she was now, so far gone that she was snoring lightly? Never. No matter how late the hour, how lengthy the stakeout, or how exhausting the case she was always awake, alert, and on the ball.

They drove on like this for hours, the silence only broken by the quiet jazz from the speakers and Lisbon's equally quiet breathing. He pulled over for a rest stop just past midnight, debated for a moment on whether or not he should rouse her, but decided not to, opting instead to make a quick bathroom break and grab a tea before hurrying back to the car, relieved to find that she hadn't moved in her slumber.

It was in the earliest part of the morning that she began to stir, her steady respirations changing to little whimpers and chokes. Jane glanced over at her to see a frown furrowing her forehead, her fingers twitching.

He whispered her name but she didn't react, and he reached over to give her shoulder a firm shake. Her body tensed under his grasp and she bolted away from the window with a yell, arms flying up and her hands tangling in her hair before moving to cover her face. Jane simultaneously tightened his grip on her and startled back, his car swerving dangerously into the other lane before he jerked it back into their own, thankful for the lack of traffic due to the early hour.

"Lisbon?" he questioned; she was panting beside him but he couldn't bring himself to look at her, adrenaline from his recent driving maneuver still pumping through him and keeping his eyes glued to the road.

She gave him a shaky but firm, "pull over," and he complied, perfectly content to be guiding his car off the road. He took a deep breath as he pulled the parking brake up, taking a second to calm himself. Lisbon's door opened at soon as the vehicle had stopped and she stumbled out, away from him and the vehicle, tripping over herself and falling on to all fours in the ditch.

When he saw her tumble Jane leapt out of his side of the car and raced around it. He knelt beside her gasping and quaking form, placing a hand on the small of her back.

"You okay?"

"Y-yeah; I'm good," she pushed herself off the ground and let him help her the rest of the way up; her legs felt like jello underneath her.

He kept one hand firmly on her elbow, noticing the way her eyes swam; he figured that she'd stood up a tad too fast. Once she was steady he soothingly pushed her hair back from her clammy forehead. An unusually biting night breeze gusted, cutting through their clothing and causing her to shiver, sweat cooling on her skin. She shook violently in the icy cold and Jane moved to support her, gently guiding her backwards to sit in the vehicle.

"Careful," Jane murmured to her when the backs of her knees hit the car and she sat down hard. He looked at her closely, scrutinizing her pale face and quivering limbs.

"Nightmare?"

She tried to give him a cocky half-smile, but her trembling lips couldn't quite accomplish it, "That obvious?"

"Nah. Just psychic, remember?"

She tried to laugh for him, but it came out more like the start of a sob.

He reached out to run a hand over her head with a mutter of comfort but she flinched away and he hastily pulled back his hand. She looked up at him guiltily and he smiled reassuringly down at her, trying to be as encouraging as possible.

She answered him before he could open his mouth, "No, Jane, I don't want to talk about it. Just a long day, alright?"

He gave her a quiet "yeah" in response, giving her shoulder a squeeze.

"What time is it?"

"It's early."

"Oh. We'd better get going again then."

"You ready for that? Or do you want to sit for a minute longer?" He could tell, despite the moonlight, that she had yet to regain any of her colour; her breathing was slowing but he still wasn't sure that she wasn't going to get sick.

She nodded, "I just wanna get back."

He beamed at her, "Okay then; let's hit the road."

She swung her legs into the car and he shut the door for her, but not before he heard her sarcastic, "If we can even make it back in this crackpot car."

He chuckled even though he was still concerned, making his way around to his door and hoping in. They drove on in peace for a time before he noticed that her breathing was evening out again. He looked towards her to see that she was starting to nod off but struggling to keep from falling back asleep.

"Go ahead; I'll keep an ear out."

She looked at him out of the corner of her eyes and he mimicked her movement.

"You'll keep an ear out?" she questioned with humour.

"Yeah. I have been known to be pretty observant, you know."

She chuckled and he couldn't help but grin in response.

"I'm okay, Jane; not even tired anymore."

"Don't lie, Lisbon."

"I'm not!"

"Sure… tell you what, I'll let it slide for now; we'll take it up later. Just get some sleep."

She snorted at him and they fell into a comfortable silence. True to Jane's words she was soon back to struggling to stay awake, her head eventually falling into its previous place against the window.

Jane gave her a tender look before softly smiling to himself and turning the radio down to listen more closely to her, taking joy from the return of her quiet breaths.

_Here you are; hope that you enjoyed! I really like this one, and I do love the song... promise that I'll try to branch out from _Thriving Ivory_ one of these days; I'm just so addicted to them right now, haha. _

_On the subject of the last chapter: while I agree that Lisbon just up and quitting would be out of character, I do think that she can be very decisive when she needs to be, and that she would make that decision if she felt if was the right one. I do believe that she is capable of the actions I had her take in the last chapter, but I completely agree with everything that you guys pointed out in your reviews. So I propose that when this fic is done (so a while in the future, haha), I write a prequel for this chapter so Lisbon's dealings with Minelli can be more understandable. And in the future, I'll add a disclaimer that not all of these ficlets will follow the storyline or necessarily be in the same time and space. Deal?_

_I appreciate all of your reviews, as always; they were especially thoughtful and constructive this time! More are always welcomed and will be read with pleasure._

_Love, Moksgmol_

Lyrics from:

Thriving Ivory. _Better than Alone_. Unknown Album


	8. Let it Happen

'_I have a ringing in my head/ and no one to help me answer it/ even with you close enough to kiss'_

The man's eyes were wild; he was about to bolt, anyone could see that clear as day.

Anyone, that is, except for Patrick Jane; he was sure that the man would, in fact, _not_ be running anywhere soon. He was going to have a little chat with the fellow and the man would be putty in the mentalist's hands.

"Carl."

The suspect's head whipped towards his name, "What?"

"Where are you going?" Jane pleasantly questioned, pleased to see the man's knees relax slightly.

"I don't... I ain't tellin' you nothing! You're a cop!" Carl snarled and crouched, as though to take off, but Jane interrupted him again.

"No I'm not."

"You're not?"

Jane gave him as big a grin as he could, "No, sir, Carl my boy."

Carl straightened, frowning in confusion, "Then what are you?"

"That's a tough one. Mostly just a pain in Lisbon's ass. But no uniform, see?" he gestured to his three-piece with both hands, "Not a cop."

"You know that Lisbon bitch! She's a fuckin' cop!"

Whoops.

Carl was suddenly moving, and without thinking Jane reached out a hand to grab his arm. The man shied back and Jane overbalanced and stumbled forward to where Carl had been standing, cursing himself for his mistake.

There was an abrupt, jarring impact and Jane found himself sprawled on the cement, the air knocked from his lungs, trying to get his both his bearings and his feet back underneath himself. Instead of accomplishing that, though, he was unceremoniously flipped onto his front, a hard weight digging into his lower back.

There was a shout, filled with exasperation, of, "Jane!"

Ah. Lisbon.

She moved to get off of him at the same moment he chose to roll over, accidently catching her up in the action and causing her to fall forwards onto him. They were now face to face, her front against his own; he could feel her chest heaving, her belly moving into him and away, trying to replenish the oxygen she'd just expended.

"What are you doing?" he asked her, bemused.

Her panting did nothing to diminish the volume of her yelling, "I would have had him! What the hell were you thinking stepping in my way!?"

"Well," he began, his voice patient because he knew just how much it would bother her, "How was I supposed to know that you were about to come flying out from around the corner of the building?"

She made a noise that was somewhere between a huff and a snort, "Don't you always know where we all are?"

"I'm not psychic, Lisbon," Jane pretend-scoffed before switching tactics, "I've always wondered what that was like."

She furrowed her brow, not sure if she wanted to take his bait, but she did anyways, "What _what_ was like, Jane?"

"Being on the receiving end of one of your tackles; I've always thought they looked rather uncomfortable. I assure you that they are."

She stared at him in disbelief. Jane just beamed in return, surprised that she hadn't moved off of him yet. Her breathing was slowing; they were almost nose to nose. She was so close....

"Your breath smells like cinnamon."

She hit him on the chest - not painfully, but hard enough to make him wish he was wearing a vest as she was - before putting her palms on him and pressing, using his body as leverage. She brushed her pants off once she was standing, shooting him one last annoyed look before she walked off to gather the team; she didn't bother to offer him a hand up.

Jane gave her retreating form a smile; maybe someday he'd be able to ask and get the answer he was looking for. He was just smart enough to know that today wasn't that day.

_Sorry for that taking so long! But exams are done now, and summer is here, so hopefully there'll be lots of updates in the near future (92 of them, haha). Ebony10: love the idea of flashbacks! I'll def. see what I can do, but I want to finish this fic before I take any of the chapters further (it'll happen, though; promise!) And, to be honest, I have no idea what her nightmare was about. Or what she was so upset about back in chapter three. It's just convenient to have her so distressed, haha. And to mwalter1: perhaps one of Jane later; I'm gonna give nightmares a break for a bit. I'm sure I'll get back around to them sooner or later, though, haha. _

_And, of course, thank you to all the rest of you as well for your awesome reviews! More would be great!_

_Ciao for now, Moksgmol_

Lyrics from:

Jimmy Eat World. (2006-07). _Let it Happen_. Chase this Light (CD). Interscope.


	9. Break Me Out

_'Break me out tonight/ I wanna see the sun rising anywhere but here/ Come with me'_

She jumped at the sound of her office door bouncing off the wall and looked up to see him storming into the room, the fury on his face hard and painfully real. She had been expecting him; she had thought that she was prepared for him; that she was ready to face what he was going to throw at her.

She wasn't. But she damn well deserved it, and so she was going to take whatever he wanted to dish out.

"Why the hell didn't you call me, woman!"

It's more a question than a statement; for the first time ever he's using that nickname of his, 'woman,' in a derogatory way.

It stings; she deserves it.

He's in front of her now, his palms flat on her desk, leaning forward so that they're face to face. He's breathing hard, panting really; she can feel each forceful gust of air against her cheeks. The unveiled fury in his eyes robs her of her voice.

"Answer me, damnitt!"

She opens her mouth, chokes out a response, "I didn't know what you would do."

"You're lying," he hisses, glare narrowing.

She gathers herself and glowers right back, "Fine, Jane, you want me to say it? I didn't call you when we headed out to catch Red John because I knew what you would do, okay? Exactly what you would do. _You_ told me, and let me tell you that you were very clear as to exactly what you were planning on doing to that man."

"I was frank so you would bring me; so you wouldn't be under any pretenses when the time came!"

"You think that I was going to let my team walk into that?"

He didn't ask her whether or not he was part of her team and she didn't quantify her statement. Instead she squared her shoulders; he snorted a forceful puff of air through his nostrils, leaning back to stand up straight.

"I'm a cop, Jane," she whispers; almost seethes, "What did you expect me to do? You're my friend, and I care about you, but I care about them too. You're _all_ my responsibility. I couldn't let you do that to them. I couldn't let you do that to yourself, Jane."

He didn't seem as though he had anything else to say; she was surprised at the candor he'd already given to her, albeit it being through his anger.

He whirled, resentment still colouring his actions, heading to leave through the still-open doorway.

She stood up, calling his name softly; he froze in his tracks but didn't turn.

"I have something for you."

"I don't want it, Lisbon."

She flinched at the venom in his words and she was glad that he was still has his back to her. She let silence settle on the room, waiting for him to face her. When he did she reached a hand down, opened the top drawer of her desk and pulled out a small velvet bag. She undid the rope and let the fabric fall away, revealing a plain ceramic urn.

"His ashes."

Jane stepped back as though slapped; he stared at her, uncomprehending.

"They're yours; do whatever you need to with them. He has no family for them to go to so I pulled some strings for you."

She moved the cloth back over the container before picking it up and holding it out to him. When he didn't reach for it she stepped forward and picked up his hand, placing the urn in it and curling his fingers around it.

She reached out to pat his shoulder, giving him the most sympathetic look she could muster.

"Anything you need, Jane; just let me know what I can do."

His gaze unexpectedly hardened, "You've done enough."

He left the room this time, the container clutched firmly in his hands. She sighed, falling back onto her desk, trying not to cry.

--

Shadows were long across the dimly lit floor and the sky outside the windows was dark when Jane returned to Lisbon's office, for once knocking gently on the door. She looked up at him, placing down her pen, foregoing the pretense of work she had been trying for all day and far into the night… well, morning again, now. She'd been waiting for his return since he'd left.

"I need your help."

She acquiesced, turning off her desk lamp and following him out of the deserted building. He led her to his car; they drove in silence. After a time he stopped on the edge of a high, rocky beach, the cliff in front of them steep. Jane reached over across Lisbon's lap, opening the glove compartment and pulling out the urn. He exited the car and she trailed him all the way to the edge. The water was breaking far below them, the surf pounding loudly against the rocks.

Jane tightened his grip on the ceramic in his hands, pulled his arm back. Hesitated. Lisbon stayed silent; she knew that this had to be his decision.

He moved suddenly, throwing the urn with as much force as he could; the container tumbled away into the darkness. They both watched it disappear; Lisbon almost thought that she could hear it smash. Wished she could have heard it, really. They both remained wordless for a time, listening to the beating waves.

"I'm sorry. I understand what you did, I... I would have done it too, in your shoes, I think."

She nodded, "I'm sorry too."

He reached out for her hand and she met him halfway; they both stayed there, staring at the sea rather than each other, the sky just beginning to lighten over the water.

Once the bottom of the sun had broken the horizon she spoke, her voice quiet, "Where to now, Jane?"

He looked over at her, gave her the most wonderful smile she'd ever seen grace his features, "To work."

She smiled back. He was going to be okay… no, _they_ were going to be okay; they were going to move on together.

One day at a time.

_Okay, there you are. Love the concept for this one, not too sure about the ending. Really wanted to update, though :) And the lyric was picked after this was written; love the song, just not sure about how well it matches this chapter. Ah well, c'est la vie. Hope that you all enjoyed; your reviews are wonderful and more would be too!_

_Love, Moksmgol_

Lyrics from:

The Rescues. (2007). _Break Me Out_.


	10. Breathe 2 am

"_Can you help me unravel my latest mistake/ I don't love him, winter just wasn't my season"_

Jane bustled into Lisbon's office, paper bag from the deli down the street in hand. He reached in as she glanced up at him, pulling out a sandwich for her.

"Got you tuna, Lis-"

He broke off as her face paled at the smell of fish, and out of reflexes born from having a child just managed to drop what he was holding and grab a wastebasket. He plunked it down in front of her just in time; she bent forward, heaving, and he moved to gather her hair, rubbing her back encouragingly.

Once she had stopped she swiped a hand across her mouth/ He handed her a tissue and she looked up at him, embarrassment plain on her face.

He waved it off, "No worries, Lisbon. Sorry for what I did, though."

She frowned at him, not quiet trusting herself enough yet to open her mouth.

He pointed in front of her, "Grabbed your recycling box, not the garbage."

She rolled her eyes at him before slowly leaning back in her chair, letting her head flop limply back against the top.

He watched her for a moment, concerned, "You want a ride home?"

"I'm fine. Just give me a minute and I'll clean up."

Jane sighed; she could be so stubborn!

"Lisbon, you just vomited at the scent of fish. You clearly have the flu or... well, you probably just have the flu."

She let her head roll to the side and gave him a one-eyed glare, "Or?"

He tried his best to look awkward, "Well, you know..."

She gave him a confused look as he trailed off, "No, Jane, I really-"

She abruptly cut herself off as her addled brain caught up to his. He leapt forward to grab the basket as she did the impossible and whitened further.

She gently pushed his helping hands away, giving him a breathless and unfocussed, "No, thanks, I'm okay."

He gave her a look, "Yeah? You sure?"

"Um, yeah, you know, I'm just gonna head home. You're right, I can't be throwing up on a report or something."

He put a steadying hand on her elbow as she stood, "Let me toss this out and I'll meet you in the parking lot; I'll give you a ride home."

She gave him a distracted nod, "Uh, yeah, fine; you can drive my car. I just want to make a quick stop at the drugstore on the way."

He gave her a sideways look.

"For some ginger ale and stuff... you know," she replied quickly, flustered.

"Sure," he replied, ushering her out of the office and hiding his smirk.

--

After a quick stop - during which Jane had followed Teresa's firm contention that he stay in the car, but only because he really wanted to get her home - they arrived. She moved past him and to the couch, onto which she collapsed bonelessly, not bothering to stop him from following her in.

He closed the door behind them, following her into the living area and sitting himself down on the loveseat before breaking their silence, "Go ahead."

"And what?" she mumbled, somewhat incoherently, into the cushions.

"Go and take the test; put your mind at ease. You might feel a little better," he smiled at the grunt she gave him in response; he was enjoying toying with her.

She eventually got up from the sofa, dragging herself to the bathroom after giving him a half-hearted glare. Not that she would have been able to hide something like this from him, but she wished that she could have done this part on her own.

--

Five minutes later she returned, letting herself tumble back onto the chesterfield. He watched her for a moment before getting up and moving to leave the room.

"Sit."

He did so, waiting patiently for her to speak again.

"You don't need to go digging through my garbage to find a stick that I peed on, so I'll just tell you now that I'm not."

He smiled to himself, not bothering to respond at first. He was glad that she wasn't pregnant for both of their sakes, but there _was_ something that was bothering him... the idea that she could be, that she had slept with someone recently... well, it bugged him, to be honest. He didn't quite know why - he wasn't ready to move on from his wife - but it did; he could be honest with himself about that at least. He pondered the revalation for a while before speaking again, hoping that she hadn't fallen asleep yet. He was happy to find that she hadn't, and that she had shifted so that she was now watching him, the expression on her face telling him that she was trying to figure him out as much as he.

He gave her a smile and a little chuckle, "Good then. Want me to find us something to eat? There's a great little sandwich place just-"

He broke off as her face changed a nasty shade of green; shouldn't have brought up sandwiches again so soon, apparently. He followed her stumbling dash to the bathroom, holding back her hair again for her.

Between bouts she managed to give him her best rasping yell of, "I still have the flu, Jane, you inconsiderate ass!"

He just kept up a monologue, not letting her trouble him outwardly though he did feel a bit guilty, "There really are a lot of words for this aren't there? Puking, vomiting, throwing up, tossing your cookies, a technicolour yawn, driving the porcelain bus, praying to the porcelain gods-"

"Jane!" her hoarse voice was filled with exasperation.

"-and, of course, my favourite: tangoing with the toilet. You have any to add?"

She gave him a growl before flushing and falling back against him weakly. He grinned, brushing her sweaty hair back away from her forehead and enjoying the feeling of her body against him.

He really was glad that she wasn't pregnant, and he was pretty sure that this kind of scare would cause Lisbon to break it off with whoever the guy was. Or she would cut out the random sexual encounters, which was the more likely cause for this effect.

And for some strange reason, the idea that she would be single and sexless pleased him to no end. His grin grew even wider at that.

_Okay, hope you enjoyed; we're ten per cent of the way done! This one's a little odd, I guess, but it just sort of happened, haha. I've only read through it once, so any mistakes will be fixed when I give it another run through; just really wanted to post this before heading to bed. A big thanks to Ebony10 for pointing out an error last chapter; it's always appreciated, so long as it's constructive! I probably just managed to read over it a million times, haha. And thanks to everyone else for your great reviews (some fluff is on it's way, promise!)_

_More reviews would be great!_

_Love, Moksgmol_

Lyrics from:

Anna Nalick. (2005). _Wreck of the Day_ (CD). Breathe (2 am)


	11. Chasing Cars

_'If I lay here/ if I just lay here/ would you lie with me/ and just forget the world'_

Lisbon slowly made her way into the quiet bullpen, reading a report as she walked. Her team had long gone home; it was a Friday and she had sent them off to enjoy the Californian sunshine. Summer was finally coming and they deserved the break; they had closed the case and she was just catching up on some Jane-related paperwork. So engrossed was she on the file in her hands that she didn't realize the reason for her staying late was watching her from the coach until he spoke up.

"Hey Lisbon."

She jumped nearly a foot, pressing a hand to her chest and glaring at him while she tried to recover her voice.

It didn't take long: "Jane! Are you trying to shave even more years off of my life!"

He gave her a quirky smile, "Sorry Lisbon. You are a cop, though; you think that it would be harder to surprise you."

She grumbled and sent her best scowl in his direction; she was pleased to see a bit of guilt in his expression. She had turned back towards the break room, still planning to grab a cup of coffee, when he called out her name again. She continued toward the small kitchenette, giving him a "yeah, Jane?" over her shoulder.

"C'mere."

She rolled her eyes, "In a second, Jane; be patient for once."

He whined her name and she sighed, abandoning her mug on the counter and stalking back to him, hands on her hips, "What?"

He gestured her towards him, "Come here."

"I am here."

He sighed, "No; _here_."

He patted the couch cushion beside him and she eyed him warily. He raised his brow in response and she conceded, huffing out a fake-annoyed breath as she moved to him. She plunked down on the sofa beside him, bouncing a bit on the cushion, raising an expectant eyebrow at him.

"Well?"

He reached out to grab her shoulders, turning her away from him and towards the window. She was stiff under his hands but jerkily complied, her head pivoting to watch him.

"No, no, woman; just trust me for once," he scoffed, putting his hands over her ears and turning her face away from his own.

She gave him a mutter of, "I do, all the time, and I always end up with paperwork."

"I heard that."

"I should hope so; it's my ears that are covered, not yours."

"Details. Do you really think that I'm shortening your life?"

"What?" she questioned, turning back to look at him.

He gently repositioned her head again, "You said that I was taking years off of your life; you really think so?"

"I know so, Jane," she drawled, tone dripping with sarcasm.

"Ah. Let me add some then."

"I don't think that it works like that, Jane."

"Sure it does; can you see the window?"

She frowned in confusion at his apparent change in subject, "Yeah, why?"

"Just watch it."

"The window?"

"The sunset."

She suddenly realized that he was right; the sun was setting... she'd stayed in her office longer than she thought.

"What time is it?" she asked, unsure as to why she was whispering.

"Doesn't matter," came his equally quiet response.

They fell into a peaceful quiet, watching the golden lines slowly fade away across the ocean. Jane had somehow manouvered them so that he was directly behind her and as the sun moved lower, casting light higher and higher on the walls, he shifted the both of them. Eventually they were laying down; she had her back on his front, her eyes trained on the last shaft of light on the ceiling.

It eventually was completely gone and they just lay there in the new dark; she felt his chest moving below her in a steady, soothing rythym.

"Jane?"

"Mmm?" he rumbled underneath her and she smiled, closing her eyes at the relaxing sensation.

"Thanks. I think maybe you did add some years."

"Told you I could," was his cocky response. They dropped off into silence again, and Jane the one to next break it, "Wanna wait for the sunrise?"

She didn't respond for a moment, and though her first thought had been to say no and get off of him, to get back to her office or to go home, she ignored it.

"Yeah; yeah, I would."

_There you go; a little bit of the warm and fuzzy for you all this chapter. Hope that you like it! Thanks for all of the great reviews last time; glad that the chapter was so well received. It's def. one that I'm thinking about expanding on after this fic. More reviews would be wonderful, as always!_

_Love, Moksgmol_

Lyrics From:

Snow Patrol. (2007). _Chasing Cars_. Eyes Open (CD)


	12. Every Breath You Take

'_Every move you make/ every step you take/ I'll be watching you'_

They were approaching a suspect's house, Jane in the passenger seat and Lisbon driving, while he explained to her that the suspect would be running out the back door as soon as the bell rang. Lisbon passed off his comments with a quick, 'uh-huh, Jane,' instead concentrating on guiding their SUV through traffic. They pulled up to the curb, Lisbon taking a moment to look Jane in the eyes and tell him that under no circumstances was he to leave the vehicle. He gave her a happy little smile and she returned it with a glare before leaving him, tossing an, "I mean it, Jane!" over her shoulder.

Sure enough he hadn't listened, instead wandering around the house to watch the back. Lisbon hissed at him from behind a bush to get down and out of site just as the suspect burst out of the house, racing down the steps with agents in pursuit. Lisbon cursed at the distraction Jane had caused, shoving past him and outpacing the others, flinging herself forward to tackle the man. She caught him below the knees and they tumbled over the stone wall on the edge of the property. Both of them yelled as they went over and Jane was spurred into movement, positive that he'd heard pain in Lisbon's voice.

Rigsby and Cho were ahead of him and leapt over the obstacle with ease. They bent down, disappearing from site; Jane was still running, cursing his out of shape self. He could here Cho yelling at the man to stay down and the clink of cuffs. Grace had now reached the barrier and was easily bounding over the fence; how the heck were these people all so athletic? The fact that he still could not hear or see either Rigsby - or more importantly Lisbon - was a worry and he tried to push himself past the stitch in his side.

Jane got to the wall just as Cho stood up with the suspect; he eagerly leaned over the edge to check on the other agents.

Grace was hovering nervously over Lisbon, who was sitting on the ground. Rigsby was crouched next to her, a hand almost on her shoulder; he was trying to keep her down but was clearly afraid for his life as he usually was in Lisbon's presence.

Jane vaulted the fence as suavely as possible, immediately squating down in front of her and reaching for the bruise on her head. Cho, seeing that Jane was now there and would be able to control their boss to some extent, steered off their captive toward the waiting cruisers.

Lisbon flinched away from Jane's fingers, giving him a growl, "I'm fine!"

He raised his eyebrows at her, "Sure... that's why Rigsby here doing his best to keep you sitting-"

She opened her mouth to cut him off but he raised his voice and spoke over her, "-even though you terrify him. And now you've got a giant welt on your head. You remember what happened exactly?"

"Yeah, you didn't stay in the car and we almost lost our guy!"

"I meant when you took out our darling runner over there."

He picked up on her hesitation right away, but she was almost able to convince him with a positive, "Of course."

But he didn't miss much with her, and so he simply raised his eyebrows.

"What?"

"Well? What happened, then?"

"I... I hit my head on the wall."

"Yeah, anyone can put that together, but the problem is that you don't remember doing it. I'm taking you to get looked at."

"No you're not!"

He nodded, "Sure I'm not; let's just get you up before I don't take you to the hospital."

She glowered at him but allowed him to help her up. Rigsby scrambled back out of the way, stepping on Van Pelt's foot and earning himself an 'ouch!' in the process.

Jane kept a steadying hand on Lisbon's elbow, jumping forward to brace her when she swayed.

"Careful," Jane supplied, supporting her more firmly. Both Grace and Rigsby had leapt forward themselves to catch her and scrambled back again when she gave them a wobbly glare.

Jane gave her arm a bit of a tug to pull her attention back and she slowly turned her head to look at him.

"Let's get going nice and easy."

"I'm _fine_."

"Mmmhmmm," he mumbled as he began to guide her gently back towards to where she'd parked the car.

"Don't give me that!" she cried, her steps wavering as she shouted. Grace leapt ahead to grab her free arm, leaving Jane to the small of her back and her other elbow. Rigsby shadowed Van Pelt, nervous and unsure of how to act around his boss when she was so unsteady.

Cho joined them before they made it to the car, "You okay, boss?"

She gave him a distracted, 'yeah,' needing all of her concentration solely on the task of walking to the vehicle. He gave her a nod in return, moving ahead to open the passenger side door for her. She didn't protest as Jane helped her into the passenger seat, sinking slowly into the chair and closing her eyes. Jane slipped his fingers into her pocket and pulled out the car keys, giving the rest of the team a surprised look when she didn't object to the action.

"You're taking her to the hospital?" whispered Cho, and though it was phrased as a question it was clearly a statement.

"Not so _loud_, Cho; he's just going to drive me back to the office so I can take a Tylenol and finish up the report on this." her voice drifted tiredly from the car; she hadn't bothered to open her eyes.

"Of course," Jane said, shooting a smile in her direction before turning back to the others, "and of course to you too, Cho. She's clearly got a headache now along with the vertigo and slight memory loss... most likely a concussion."

"You think she'll go for it?" Rigsby nervously asked.

"Of course she won't want to but I'm sure that won't be a problem."

Van Pelt frowned, "You know she'll argue with you the whole way."

"Nah, I don't think so."

He beamed at the two sets of raised eyebrows and Cho's standard stoic expression, "She's already asleep."

They all looked towards the car to see Lisbon's head lolled to one side. Cho's eyebrows rose, "That was fast."

"You'd better get going, man." Rigsby urged, worry clear on his features. Jane nodded, closing Lisbon's door as quietly as possible.

"Tell us as soon as you know something," Grace asked.

"I'll call as soon as I can."

With that Jane made his way into the driver's seat, for once keeping to the speed limit and driving as smoothly as possible.

--

"Yep, you definitely have a concussion Agent Lisbon."

She scowled at Jane over the doctor's shoulder, flinching back as the man shone his penlight at her pupils.

"It's fairly mild so you won't need anything done medically. Just be sure to get lots of rest and have someone wake you up every couple of hours. If any of your symptoms get any worse be sure to come back in. And don't drive for a coupe of days, of course. I can write you a note for your employer if you'd like."

Libson gave the man the most gracious smile she could muster, "No, thank you; that won't be necessary. You have a good night."

The doctor nodded, telling them both to take care before heading out of the room and to his next patient. Lisbon slid off of the table the moment he was gone, carefully steadying herself before trying to walk. Jane moved to take up his position at her side and though she glowered at him she allowed it.

"Can you give me a ride to the office?"

"Sure."

She frowned up at him, "Sure? Actually?"

"Yes, actually. You aren't going to let me go home alone and I don't need you of all people at my place. So we are heading to the office where you can lay on the couch and I can actually get some paperwork done. That'll please us both, right?"

He frowned but agreed with her, not wanting to argue; she looked like she needed to just work on getting to the car.

--

Jane drove slowly again on his way to the CBI building, one watchful eye on LIsbon the entire time. She managed to stay awake but Jane was sure that this was only due to the fact that she was starting to feel nauseous.

They pulled into a stall and Jane turned to face her; she was staring determinedly out the window.

"That's a really interesting shade of green, Lisbon; you sure that you want to be here?"

"Yes Jane. Let's just go in, okay?"

He agreed and moved around the car to help her out, staying even closer than he had earlier in the night, his hand firm against the base of her spine.

--

He dropped her off at her desk before heading to his couch and laying down so she would think that he was sleeping. He stayed as still as possible, trying to determine what every movement she made was, intent on getting her home by the end of the hour.

There wasn't much to hear - just the shuffle of papers and the click of keys - as she was keeping herself confined to her desk. He knew that she was still dizzy and feeling sick to her stomach now; he hadn't heard the rattle of a bottle and so he knew that she had yet to take anything even though he was positive that she had a headache. She'd said she was going to take a Tylenol to please the doctor but he knew she had no intention of doing so; damn woman could be so stubborn sometimes!

Half an hour later there were no longer any sounds coming from the office and he got up to check on her, half-expecting that he would find her conked out on her desk. He was unpleasantly surprised to see that she was instead hunched forward, palms pressed firmly into her eyes and her shoulders shuddering.

"Hey," he lightly whispered.

She started upright, trying to wipe away her tears as discretely as she could; she didn't speak, not wanting him to hear her voice break over the knot in her throat. He quickly moved forward, cupping her cheek in his hand; she looked up at him miserably, eyes wet, sniffling a little as he wiped at her tear tracks with his thumb.

"Headache?"

She nodded, closing her eyes and moving to get up. He put a hand on her shoulder to keep her sitting, pushing back her chair and paperwork so he could sit on the desk facing her. He brought both of his hands up to her temples and rubbed circles on them; she closed her eyes at the sensation, a shaky breath leaving her lips. He continued the motion until her head became heavy and began to lean to the left. He took his hands back and she moaned at the loss of contact.

"You want to take something?"

She opened her eyes a bit, flinching at the light; Jane reached back to turn it off. Neither of them needed it; they'd both spent more than enough time in this building and Jane for one knew it like the back of his hand in the dark.

She shook her head slowly and he figured that she was still feeling sick; she gave him a quiet, "No."

"Okay, then; you want to get back to your place? I can give you a ride."

Her head moved back and forth gingerly, "No; no car ride."

"Alright... how about a lay down then?"

"No, I'm-"

"Don't say that you're fine; even Rigsby would pick up on that lie."

She exhaled, letting herself lean forward and crossing her arms to rest her head on them, apparently forgetting that Jane was in front of her. As soon as her forearms met his thighs she made to leap backwards but he had placed his hand between her shoulders, keeping her upper body resting on his lap. He knew that the sudden movement had jarred her head and he shushed her, soothingly running his hand through her hair.

She sighed and her breath was warm against his legs; he knew that she would fall asleep sprawled across him if he didn't intervene.

"Lisbon?"

"Not moving." came her muffled response.

"That's alright; your pig-headedness is quite admirable my dear."

"Mmmph," she grunted, not shifting.

He gave a chuckle and continued to stroke her head, occasionally letting his hand trail down her shoulders and back, his fingers running along her spine. She gave a contented sigh, dropping off into sleep quickly as Jane had known she would. He waited until he was sure that she was out cold before rising, tucking his hands under her arms and standing her up along with him. She hung limply in his grasp, her head flopping forward and knocking softly against his chest, her hands swinging limply at her sides. He picked her up, careful not to wake her, tucking his hands under her; her legs fell into place on either side of his waist and her front was to his own. She turned her head to the side in her sleep, snuggling her cheek into his sternum; he smiled down at her.

He made his way slowly into the bullpen and to the couch, laying her out on it. He propped her head up on the arm and covered her with a blanket once he'd removed her shoes and jacket. As much as he wanted to he stopped short of joining her on the sofa, opting instead to pull over Van Pelt's chair. He sat on it, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, eyes trained on her form.

He stayed there while she slept, listening to her even breathing and watching her face, relaxed and peaceful in sleep. They stayed like that for hours though for Jane it passed by much to quickly; the breaking dawn on her eyelids was what eventually roused her.

She opened heavy eyes and met Jane's, giving him a frown.

"What are you doing?" her voice was thick with the vestiges of sleep.

He grinned cheekily at her, "The doctor did say to watch you; just doing my job diligently."

"All night?"

He beamed in response and she rolled her eyes, reburying her face in the couch. He stood up, running a tender hand over her hair.

"I'll go and get you a coffee."

_Wow that one was long! I really like it and hopefully you did too; I've edited it once and it really should get another run-through but I have to catch some sleep before work and figured I'd post this first. Thanks again for your wonderful reviews and more are always welcome!_

_Love, Moksgmol_

Lyrics from: The Police. (1983). _Every Breath you Take_. Synchronicity (CD).


	13. The Assumption Song

_'While the girl in the meadow was rubbing her/ Eyes at the fellow, down by the dock/ he looked like a man with a sizable/ Home in the country, with a big fence out front'_

Agent Teresa Lisbon had just sat down to finish the last of her paperwork, enjoying the quiet that the end of a hard day's work could bring. They had successfully closed a case and she had sent the boys home or to have drinks or whatever it was the two of them did after hours. She wondered briefly if they'd invited along their newest member; she didn't have the scope of him yet but was happy to let the boys feel him out for her. She could read Rigsby's thoughts like a book and had known Cho long enough to see beyond his normally stoic expression. She trusted them to tell her about their consultant without saying anything.

A knock on the door interrupted her musings and she looked up to see Jane standing in her doorjamb, giving her the biggest, whitest - and if she was completely honest, one of the sexiest - smiles she'd ever witnessed. Well, the man was nothing if not charming.

She smiled softly back, "Hello, Jane; something I can help you with?"

"Yes, there is," he stated in a matter of fact tone, "I've found us a couch for the office - much more comfortable than those instruments of torture the bureau calls chairs - and I was wondering if you wanted to help me christen it."

Her jaw dropped and her pen clattered onto the desktop... he wanted her to _what!?_

A silence stretched on; though she opened her mouth, no words seemed to be forthcoming. Jane simply beamed at her, watching the colour rise on her cheeks.

After waiting for a period that Lisbon found all too uncomfortable, Jane brought the hand behind his back around front, a bottle in his hand, "You know, with champagne; like a ship."

She finally found her voice, "Uh, no, I, uh... I was just heading home; I've got to get going, um, home. Thanks anyways; maybe one of the boys will join you another time."

She rushed through gathering her things, packing up in record time, "You have a good night."

He let her brush past him, making a beeline for the elevator. Once she was gone he laughed a little, recalling the blush that had spread across her cheeks... maybe this job was going to be better than he'd thought.

There was a ding behind him as the elevator doors reopened and there she was again, cheeks still flushed pink, but she seemed to have gotten herself back in order: a glare had settled on to her features. He raised his eyebrows at her, calmly waiting for her to stalk up to him. She had to hand it to her; she was awfully intimidating for someone of her size.

Not that he was intimidated, of course; merely curious as to what she had come back to say.

She answered him by reaching forward, snatching the bottle from his hands, "You can drink this at the CBI headquarters, Jane! It's a government building!"

"And what are you going to do with it?"

She glowered at him, shoving the champagne back towards him so brusquely that he nearly dropped it, "Fine! But I swear, if I ever catch you drinking anything other than approved beverages in this building I will personally write you up!"

With that she turned on her heal and stormed back to the elevator, this time leaving for good, but not before tossing a shout of, "And that ratty old sofa had better be gone by the time I get here tomorrow morning!" over her shoulder.

Scratch that last thought about the job: Teresa Lisbon alone was going to be a lot more fun than he'd realized.

_Over 100 reviews! I can't thank you all enough! (but by all means, please continue; it's a great ego boost, haha) Thought I would reward you all with this little one-shot; I'm really pleased with how it came out. Enjoy!_

_Love, Moksgmol_

Lyrics from:

The Arrogant Worms and Chris O'Neill. _The Assumption Song_. Various.


	14. Hey Lady

'_Hey lady, said I don't wanna fight/ Like pretty girls need cowboys/ I need you here tonight'_

She was making her way across the dark parking lot, digging through her purse for her keys, when a hand reached out and grabbed her wrist. She leaps what feels like five feet, suppressing a scream while simultaneously trying to pull free and reach for her gun. The other person tugs her around with surprising strength and she's suddenly face to face with Patrick Jane.

She hears a little 'oh' escape her lips as the adrenalin starts to seep away. She frowns up at him; he looks like he's been crying. He's been off all day actually... she'd thought about confronting him about it if he was still acting strangely the next day. Looked like he was going to take care of that for her right now.

He leads her to his car, hand still closed securely around her arm, and she has to extract her other hand from her handbag to keep her balance as she's dragged along in his wake. Her feet stumble a bit and she tries her best to get them back underneath herself; she doesn't mean to be so resisting, and she doesn't know why she feels so willing. Under any other circumstance she would be digging in her heals and raising her voice.

As it is she allows him to deposit her in the front seat of his car; she's sure that he would have literally done so if she had not climbed in when his insistent hand applied pressure to her lower back. He shuts the door behind her and she knows that it isn't a gentlemanly gesture; he just wants to be sure that she isn't going anywhere. Under normal circumstances she would have teasingly asked if he was going to buckle her in too. She doesn't now.

He hops into the seat beside her and they drive off slowly, making their way through the late-night traffic smoothly, eventually ending up in front of what she can only assume is his house. She stays seated when they pull into the driveway, waiting for Jane to open her door, retake her wrist, and lock the car behind her. He leads her up the front walk and pulls out his key with shaking hands. After four attempts to line the key up with the hole - she'd not sure if it's because of his trembling hands or tear-filled eyes - she takes it and does it for him. He looks away from her, seemingly ashamed, and her lips press together into a thin line. She's the one that pulls him over the threshold and into the dark entranceway, the one who closes the front door and puts the key into a drawer in the hallstand.

She leaves it up to him to make the next move; they stand in the dark and time seems to stretch on. He's not crying, but she can tell he's close; she doesn't know what to do for him, what he wants, and so she waits. When he does stir it seems abrupt, though they've been standing for ages. He doesn't take hold of her this time but she follows just behind him, reaching forward to slip her hand into his own. She squeezes his limp fingers and he doesn't react but doesn't pull away from her touch.

He leads her up the stairs and to the room at the end of the hall; she's almost afraid for him to open the door. He does and she sees the smiley, lit by the moonlight, somehow a million times worse that in photos. She swears that she can almost smell the coppery scent of fresh blood, however impossible that may be.

They stop at the edge of the bed, and Lisbon is sure the sheets on it are the only things that have been changed since the murders. He looks at her, eyes pleading, and speaks for the first time.

"It's been five years."

She looks up at him, sympathetic, and waits for him to continue.

"Five years to this day that I hugged them goodbye in the morning, that I held her, that I... that they were here."

His voice breaks and she fees her throat constrict; she can't do more than whisper her response, "I'm not her Patrick."

His voice is softer now too, matching her own, "I know. But I-I need..."

He trails off and she shushes him, tightening her hold on his hand, "It's okay, I get it."

She then releases his hand and removes her shoes, looking up at him; when she meets his eyes she can almost feel the relief in them. He follows suit, slipping out of his own footwear and following that with his jacket and vest. He gets down to the t-shirt that he always hides underneath his dress shirt; she's in the tank top that was under her own.

He seems lost at that point and she takes charge, reaching for his hand again and guiding him to the bed. She pulls back the covers and urges him in, slipping in beside him. They lay for a time, still and apart, close but not touching. He reacts to her warmth eventually, his shivering slows and his resolve firms; he reaches over to pull her close. She allows him to, her body malleable under his now-steady hands, and they end up on their sides, her body spooned into him. She tangles her legs with his and her palms rest on the backs of his hands over her belly. She feels him lean his head against hers, hears the intake of breath as he takes in the scent of her hair.

There's a hiccup in his breath, "Oh, God, it's been _five_ _years_."

He's quaking all over again, sobbing messily and noisily against her shoulder, pressing his face into her from behind. She doesn't do anything but press his arms more firmly into her stomach, curl her toes into the tops of his feet, and let her own tears begin to trek down her cheeks and onto the pillow they're sharing.

She lets him cry himself dry, sobbing and moaning, before she rolls in his embrace. She presses her forehead to his own, their noses almost touching, and closes her eyes. Her wet face is against his; his eyes are empty but hers are still leaking into the space between them.

She doesn't say anything. Whether that's because she can't find the words or because there simply isn't anything anyone can say she isn't sure, but she stays silent.

He does too, even as she places a kiss on the tip of his nose before hugging him as best she can, molding her body to his, fronts together this time. She gives a shaky sigh as she tucks her head under his chin.

He rubs her back, up and down, side to side, in circles, taking comfort in the motions. His shuddering subsides and seems to shift to her; she's quivering all over and he knows that she's trying to hold back more tears. He places a kiss into her hair and her body starts to relax. He drifts off to sleep when she finally stills, exhaustion winning over him for once. Or maybe it's her.

She doesn't sleep that night, but she doesn't leave either. When they wake in the morning they shower together; she wipes the tear trails off his cheeks and he washes her hair. She closes her eyes and lets him; neither of them analyzes the situation. Once they're dry he drives her to the office; he stops at the couch and she continues on to her desk, not a word between them. This won't affect their work or personal relationships at all; she'll never tell a soul. It won't be mentioned and it won't happen again unless he brings it up, which he's not sure he'll do.

Maybe in another five years.

_And back to angst, haha; I just can't stay away! And we're back to _Thriving Ivory _again too. Thanks again for your reviews and I look forward to more. And lastly, to Jisbonygoodness: no, they are not related. And not in any order, just as they pop into my head. Oh, and Ebony10: yeah, _Every Breath You Take _is a really creepy song… not much else to say there, haha._

_Love, Moksgmol_

Lyrics from:

Thriving Ivory. (2003). _Hey Lady_. Thriving Ivory (CD)


	15. Long Hallway with a Broken Light

'_Dance with the pain but you don't mind/ See the city burn tonight, hearts up in flames/ Would you carry me away?'_

Lisbon sat on the dark sidewalk, shivering slightly from the cold concrete beneath her, face lit by her phone. She turned the device in her hands, fingers fumbling over the keys, not sure if she wanted to follow through with what felt like her only option.

That option being calling Jane for a ride home because she was drunk.

She couldn't get a cab; she'd been trying for an hour. She refused to call Van Pelt or Rigsby; Grace would be full of questions and Rigsby just wouldn't know what to do with himself. She was sure that Cho would do it for her but she knew that he was out with his wife tonight and she was loathe to interrupt him.

So that left Jane.

Damn.

She sighed, bringing the phone to her ear and listening to it ring, waiting for him to pick up. He didn't and she was left staring at her cell in shock, jaw slightly open, on a cold, dark street. Where the hell was he?

Her phone rang while she was still trying to process the fact that he hadn't answered and she flipped it open, answering it with a question, "Jane?"

"Hey Lisbon; psyched you out when I didn't answer just then, didn't it?"

She spluttered, unable to find the words that could actually describe exactly how annoying he could be, eventually settling on, "Jane, seriously, what the hell."

He chortled, "What's up?"

She bit her lip; asking him now seemed out of the question but she couldn't just sit here... she waffled until Jane interrupted her silence, "Lisbon? You still with me?"

She sighed at the concern in his voice, "Yeah."

"What do you need?"

"A ride."

"I'll be right there," he replied solemnly, hanging up.

It was times like this that she appreciated his abilities; he didn't need her to elaborate or even to tell him where exactly she was. He just knew. He always knew, really, but he loved to see her struggle to articulate herself. She was glad that tonight wasn't one of those times.

Within ten minutes the Citroën had pulled up in front of her. Before she had time to complete her thought about his strange taste in vehicles Jane had crouched down in front of her. She swallowed when his gaze found her own; she really didn't want him to find out as much as he was going to, but it was too late for those sentiments now.

He didn't ask anything, just reached for her elbow to help her up and into the car, mumbling a kind, "come on," as he did so. She was unresisting, surprised that he hadn't prodded her a little. Then again, Jane never did what was expected of him, so maybe she should have expected this.. but then if she'd known... she stopped that train of confused thoughts right there, trying to stave off the beginnings of a headache. No, make that a migraine.

They drove to Lisbon's place in silence; Jane kept his eyes on the road and a slight grin on his face; she leant her warm forehead against the cool window and sighed, letting her eyelids slip shut.

He killed the engine when they arrived, turning to face her in the silence, "Want to talk about it?"

She didn't answer, and he continued, "I won't repeat it; I keep secrets like I hold a grudge."

She looked at him and he gave her a little smile with his eyes. She clenched her shaking hands and looked away, out the window into the distance. He was about to give up, was going to exit the car, when she spoke, startling both Jane and herself.

"I don't drink."

"You're drunk now," he pointed out.

"I don't normally drink," she amended, "Just one day a year."

"The anniversary of your mother's death."

She nodded, and more words tumbled from her lips; she was sure this was the alcohol talking but she wasn't sure that she wanted, or that she could, stop now, "My father started to drink the moment the officer's who told us about the accident left. He was smashed at her funeral; when he was supposed to be caring for us... all the time. And people let it slide for a while; let him play the grieving husband card. I was young, thirteen at the time, but I picked up the slack he left behind. Looked after my two younger brothers; got them to school, made meals, you know. Eventually I was looking after all of them, Dad included, and I hated him for it... hated that he wouldn't just get over it. Looking back I think that I was jealous in a way; he got to cry and be held and all I got was a few arbitrary hugs from strangers before I was running a house. I didn't get to cry over her; I didn't get any of that, because I was comforting everybody else.

So on the first anniversary when I got home from school and he was in the living room, even worse than usual, I just snapped. Thankfully the boys were both out at a sleepover that night; I hadn't wanted them thinking about the date or around Dad for it. I screamed at him, and I broke things, and I actually got through to him a little bit. He was just looking at me with these wide eyes and I was red-faced and panting and crying and he just offered me a bottle then. And lord knows why but I took it. And the next and then the next until I was puking and he was holding my hair back. He took me up to bed eventually, left me there with a cool rag on my head and a bucket, and then he was gone, back to the living room and his liquor... but the thing is, I felt better after it. I had gotten my chance to cry and to mourn her. The next day everything went back to normal; Dad never talked about it and neither did I. But every year I found the boys somewhere to be while Dad and I drank. He's dead now too but I still go out once a year. I now it's stupid, and sad, and I know you're going to tell me to go and get help, but I-"

Her voice was picking up speed along with her breathing; Jane leaned over and put a finger lightly on her lips before she could ramp herself up into hysterics, "Hush."

She complied, watching him with big eyes, "I live in the house where my family was killed; I've left a smiley face drawn in their blood on the walls. I'm the last person who should be telling someone to go and get help. But if you ever need anything... and I mean _anything_, even if it's just a safe ride home, you call me. Promise?"

She nodded, lips moving against his finger.

He smiled, "Good; now lets get you up those stairs."

He walked around to her side of the car and guided her up to her apartment, his hand on the small of her back. She unlocked the door when they reached it, looking up at him, "You want to stay?"

He gave her a one-sided smile, "Yes, but I won't. You don't want it."

She frowned up at him, "Yes I do; why else would I have asked?"

"You're not ready for it yet; trust me," he gently cupped her cheek in his hand and caressed it with his thumb, "Now you go in and get some rest. I'll be here in the morning to give you a ride to work. I'll bring you a coffee too; you look like you're going to need it."

With that he was gone, leaving her as cold and alone as she'd began the night, but somehow a little lighter. She stayed leaning against the door a while longer, watching as his car pulled slowly out of the parking lot and into the dark.

_Okay, this chapter wasn't exactly as I intended it to come out, but I just went with what my fingers tapped out and I do like it. Thanks as always for your kind reviews; more are always, always appreciated! And to kathiann: yep, just sleeping and crying; I'll make sure that it's obvious if anything more happens. Not sure that I've quite got the skills to write good smut but I may give it a try at some point… there are 85 more of these to go, haha. _

_Love, Moksgmol_

Lyrics from:

Thriving Ivory. (2003). _Long Hallway with a Broken Light_. Thriving Ivory (CD)


	16. Hot Blooded

THIS CHAPTER IS A CONTINUATION OF CHAPTER 10!

'_Well, I'm hot blooded, check it and see/ I've got a fever of a hundred and three'_

They stayed on the bathroom floor, Jane happy to sit with Lisbon warm and solid against him until he was sure that she wasn't going to throw up again. He shifted underneath her eventually and she moaned in protest as he dislodged her.

"You ready to move?" Jane tipped his head forward, whispering the words into her ear.

"Move where?" she mumbled in response, eyes closed.

"Your bed; it'll be more comfortable."

"Mmmph. 'Kay."

"How very articulate of you, Lisbon."

"Shut up, Jane."

He laughed, standing; she stayed on the tile, unceremoniously letting her body flop back against his legs. He smiled down at her before bending and grabbing her underneath her arms, pulling her up as he would a child.

"Come on, you; let's go."

She grunted something unintelligible - he wasn't sure that he _wanted_ to know what she'd just called him - and hauled herself up, using his hands as leverage. She was finally standing, albeit getting to that point rather awkwardly, propped against the man behind her and breathing heavily.

"Ready?"

"Yeah," she exhaled, "Let's just get there; standing's making me a little dizzy."

She pushed off of him, heading for the door, but she stumbled and caught herself on the counter; she looked up at Jane, face flushed red with embarrassment and fever, expression sheepish. He cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Okay, maybe a lot dizzy."

He took that as an invitation to come to her aid, stepping forward and scooping her up into his arms. She gave a yelp and tighltly clasped his forearm; he looked down at her to see her eyes tightly shut and a green tinge on her cheeks. Oops, forgot about that again… she really did have an amazing ability to disrupt his mentalist abilities.

"Jane," she hissed through clenched teeth, "_slowly_, please."

He nodded even though she couldn't see him, giving her a minute before smoothly walking to her room, gently maneuvering her in his arms so he could tug back the bedspread and place her under the sheets, pulling them up to her chin.

She immediately shoved them away; he hauled them up again. Her eyes popped open to glare at him and she threw the comforter back for a second time.

"Lisbon!' he admonished, "You need to keep warm."

"I am, Jane; I have a fever!"

He nodded, "Exactly; you need to keep covered and cozy to get better."

"I've made it this far in life making my own choices in regards to the amount of blankets I use or don't use."

"Come on; I know how to treat the flu."

"And I don't?"

"You're clearly feverish and confused."

She scoffed, turning away from him and kicking the extra layers even further from her body.

Jane smirked to himself, crouching down to gather up her blankets and leaving her with only the sheets, "Alright… I'll just be taking these then."

"Fine!" she called over her shoulder, not bothering to look at him as he left.

--

Jane returned half an hour later to find her shivering under the thin cotton.

"Still as warm?"

"Shut up, Jane."

"You've already said that tonight."

"And yet you're still talking."

"Funny that."

She grunted in response.

"Want your comforter back?"

She rolled over abruptly, eying the mess of fabric in his arms with a single-minded stare.

He grinned, "I'll take that as a yes."

She watched, focus unwavering, as he walked over and threw the covers over her, tucking them tightly in while she snuggled down, burrowing into the mattress. He straightened up when he was done, observing her a moment before slipping in behind her and hugging her to him.

She stiffened in his hold, "What are you doing, Jane?"

"You're still cold."

"You're the one who took away the blankets."

"You're the one who insisted you didn't need them."

"Jane?"

"Shut up, I know."

"Good," she said, closing her eyes, out of energy and argument for dealing with Jane.

He smiled, holding her warm body close to him, rubbing his hands in soothing circles on her stomach. She sighed and snuggled into him, completely catching him off-guard. He let her press herself into him without saying a word, pressing a gentle kiss to her hair.

Her response to his act surprised him, "Blowing chunks."

"What?" Jane asked, for once honestly bewildered.

"You asked earlier what my favourite term for puking is… it's blowing chunks."

"That's disgusting, Lisbon."

"Uh, we are talking about the same bodily function, aren't we?"

He chuckled at her and she smiled at the sensation of his chest rumbling against her back.

"Go to sleep, Lisbon; I think that you're delirious."

"Jane, shu-"

"Yeah, yeah."

_Once again, THIS CHAPTER IS A CONTINUATION OF CHAPTER 10. Hope that you enjoyed it and that this part only added to chapter 10. Your reviews were great for the last update and hopefully you'll write me some more wonderful ones about this chap!_

_Love, Moksgmol_

_PS: I've thus far left out a disclaimer, so I am adding this in for this chapter and all that occurred before and will be written in the future. I do not own the Mentalist or any of the associated characters or ideas. Also, this fanfic or any part of it is not to be used on any other site or linked to without the permission of the author. I'll more than likely say yes; I just want to know where my work is being posted and be sure that I am the one receiving credit for my work. Thank you for your consideration._

Lyrics from:

Foreigner. ( 1977-78). _Hot Blooded_. Double Vision (Album)


	17. Mad World

_'And I find it kinda funny/ I find it kind of sad/ The dreams in which I'm dyin'/ Are the best I've ever had'_

Lisbon walked into the office early as was her usual routine, coffee in hand, pausing and smiling at the site of Jane on the couch. The early morning sunlight through the blinds patterned across his face, alternately light and dark, a faint smile playing around the corners of his lips.

The edges of her own mouth rose ever so slightly, and she broke the stillness with a whisper of, "Morning, Jane."

"How did you know?"

She didn't feign not understanding what he was asking, instead stoically replying with, "You're never actually asleep."

"I sense an 'and.'"

"You sense right."

"Well?"

"Well what?" she asked with a smirk.

"_And_?"

Lisbon knew that it was killing him to be left in the dark and barely restrained a chuckle, "You tell me… isn't that what we pay you for?"

His eyes were still closed, "You pay me to play games with you?"

"No, but it's all you seem to do anyhow," she deftly answered, leaning a hip against Van Pelt's desk.

"I help solve crimes!" came his fake-indignant response.

"Oh, you're right, I forgot... you _do_ create a lot of case-related paperwork."

He gave a huffy snort, "Besides the point; we're getting off course. What's the and?"

She hesitated, unsure about leaving their familiar banter and stepping into more serious territory. She knew that she wouldn't get out of it though and gave in after a moment of contemplation, "You were smiling."

His current smirk grew a tad but he still had his eyes shut, "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"You smile when you're faking a nap."

He cracked one eye at her, "What?"

She frowned; he seemed generally surprised, "I said that you smile when you're pretending to be asleep."

Jane sat up, furrowing his brow at her; she met his gaze with her own uncertain one, "How very observant of you."

"Yeah, well, you know."

"I do. Anything else?"

"Nah."

"You're lying."

"Yup."

"Care to share?"

"No I don't, Jane. Do you?"

His eyes met hers and there was a sudden tension in the air, thick and crackling between them.

"I think that I do," he quietly said, holding her stare. She found herself drawn to him, pushing off the desk and moving towards him, ending up beside him on the couch. At some point he had sat up; they were now shoulder to shoulder, her eyes still attached to his own.

"Yeah?" she asked, breathy and hushed.

"Yeah," he replied before pausing, his eyes flicking away before returning to hers, "I, uh.. I fake-dream when I fake-sleep."

She cocked her head to the side, eyes inquisitive.

"You know, like daydreaming but.... well, like daydreaming and pretending that it's real dreaming… because the real dreams are nightmares," he gave her a sheepish half-grin, suddenly looking like an embarrassed little boy at his confession.

Lisbon gave him a comforting smile, reaching out for his hand and trying not to let her emotions play out on her face. She wanted to be there for him, not to encourage him into doing the same for her.

Silence hung in the air between them; she didn't know what to do with what he'd given her, couldn't bring herself to give up something of herself to him in return.

He already had too much.

Instead she gave him an olive branch, her own little offering of peace, "Want to go for a coffee? Before the team gets in?"

He looked at her, smiled with his eyes; the rising sun lit up his hair from behind, "Tea?"

She smiled in relief, "Yeah I'll buy you a tea."

He leapt up from the couch, suddenly back to the Jane she knew, full of energy and enthusiasm. He made a big show of helping her up and escorting her to the door. As they passed by Grace's desk Lisbon surreptitiously knocked her original morning coffee into the garbage, looking forward to enjoying her second one with better company than her silent office.

_Not sure how well I like this one; more dialogue than I originally intended, and I'm not sure that Jane played out as I wanted him to. Ah well, hope that you all enjoyed it anyhow! Reviews were, and more are always, appreciated! Take care until the next chapter._

_Ciao ciao, Moksmgol_

_Disclaimer: __I do not own the Mentalist or any of the associated characters or ideas. Also, this fanfic or any part of it is not to be used on any other site or linked to without the permission of the author. I'll more than likely say yes; I just want to know where my work is being posted and be sure that I am the one receiving credit for my work. Thank you for your cooperation and consideration._

Lyrics from:

Tears for Fears. (1982). _Mad Word_. Mad World (CD).


	18. Are You Happy Now?

_'Could you look me in the eye?/ And tell me that you're happy now'_

The cleaning lady didn't like flies; she'd found one in her sealed water once and had been unnerved by them ever since. That was why she hadn't moved any of their tiny little bodies from the dome light above his head. Spiders? No problem. Cockroaches? Sure, why not? Just not flies.

It was times like this that Jane cursed his mind. It begged him to occupy it, and he couldn't turn it off, and in this small blank space there was nothing to distract him but dead bugs.

More importantly, though, there was no audience. No Grace to astound; no Rigsby to play the gullible yet lovable fool; no Cho to pretend that he didn't care while watching intently from the corner of his eye.

There was, however, a Teresa Lisbon. Some days anyways.

She never gave any warning; she would show up sporadically. Sometimes after a rough case; sometimes in the middle of a long weekend; sometimes even on her way to work. With her badge she could get in any time; she had made friends with enough of the staff to earn that privilege but she kept them at a distance beyond that. She made it clear that she was only here to visit with one person.

What wasn't clear, to either of them, was why she was there. Jane could have given her a million or more reasons; she could have made plenty of excuses; but in reality neither understood. They didn't talk... she would simply sit across from him, eyes boring into his own as though she were the mentalist and not he. For his part he calmly stared back, taking in this one changing, wonderful thing in his wretchedly drab environment. Taking in her.

He wanted to touch her. They'd never been super-feely before, just chaste contact with the other's elbow or his hand on the small of her back, but even that would have been enough. The solid feel of her body under his palm was only a memory now. He couldn't even speak with her, refused to pick up the device beside him unless she initiated it. She never had. He wasn't sure that she ever would.

And then one day, exactly one year of visits later, during their staring contest something shifted in her gaze. She reached for the phone beside her and his hand leapt to his own, bringing it to his ear so quickly that it connected painfully with his temple. The ghost of a smile drifted across her lips; he waited for her words with baited breath.

"Are-" her voice broke a little and she cleared it, "are you happy now? Is all of this worth it?"

He wanted to say yes; wanted to tell her that killing that bastard and landing himself in solitary confinement was exactly right. That every night he went to bed sated and justified.

He couldn't bring himself to lie.

The tortured look in his eyes was reflected in her own and she stood up slowly, one hand reaching up to press against the invisible barrier between them. He brought up his own trembling hand and pressed his palm against her own, imagining he could feel her even through the unyielding plexiglass.

"I wish that it was. Goodbye, Jane."

He couldn't form a response though she gave him more than enough time. He instead watched her walk away, crying for the first time since he'd been brought in. He thought maybe that she wouldn't return; that she really had meant that goodbye. But maybe he didn't know her as well as he used to, or maybe just not as well as he thought, for she did come back.

Their silence continued.

_Okay, I think that I'm happy with that; hope that the situation was clear… since it's supposed to just be a glimpse I didn't want to lay out an entire scenario. If you're confused let me know. And thank you, of course, for all of your wonderful reviews! You're always so supportive! I look forward to hearing your thoughts on this chapter. And kathiann: I didn't really give much thought as to what Jane was happily fake-dreaming about; to be honest if it's not in the ficlet I probably didn't consider it… they're all just random thoughts I get when listening to songs (usually rockin' out in my car, to be honest, haha). Good idea for a later piece though _

_Love, Moksgmol_

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Mentalist or any of the associated characters or ideas. Also, this fanfic or any part of it is not to be used on any other site or linked to without the permission of the author. I'll more than likely say yes; I just want to know where my work is being posted and be sure that I am the one receiving credit for my work. Thank you for your cooperation and consideration._

Lyrics from:

Michelle Branch. (2003). _Are you Happy Now?_ Hotel Paper (CD).


	19. Here You Come Again

_'All you gotta do/ Is smile that smile/ And there go all my defenses'_

It didn't matter what stunt he pulled; it didn't matter how much trouble he got her into with Minelli, Jane _always_ came out ahead.

And she was always left making up excuses and trying her damndest to convince him to stay in line the next time. But then he'd distract her with a joke, poke fun at at her for following the rules, or, and this was the worst of them all, he'd giver her that smile.

The one that crinkled his eyes at the corners; the one that made his curls look even more golden; the one that made her own lips want to turn up, no matter how mad she was at him. Jane didn't need a white stallion or a sunset to ride into; that charming smile would score him the endearment of any girl.

She really wished some days that she could rise above being just any girl.

--

Jane knew that his smile was brilliant; it was one of the reasons he had done so well on television… nobody wanted to watch an ugly person host. Having a great face made him all the more popular and marketable, especially with the ladies, who were really his core audience.

Jane himself didn't care looks, though he cared about the expressions his smile brought out in others. He could tell by the response to him whether or not another person was guilty, interested in him, or simply acting upon reflex and returning his gesture. He enjoyed using it to fight crime; it was a bit like his secret weapon, he supposed.

He liked using it best on Lisbon, however. She had become increasingly careful around him of late, always mindful of what she may be giving away. He had to admit that she was improving; she was getting better at masking her body language and most of her faces from him.

Her reaction when he smiled, though… well, that was a completely different matter.

He was sure that she felt she was succeeding when she kept her mouth in that thin, angry line while telling him off. That she was overriding her natural instinct to return his grin, to let him get away with getting her into trouble.

Well, he hated to burst her bubble, but she wasn't. Her mouth may have stayed unnaturally set but she most certainly smiled back. It was in the twitch of her hands, the tightening of the outer corners of her eyes, and most obviously in the little twinkle that flashed across her green irises. The little sighs that she breathed out her nose were an attempt to keep her face frozen in place; the small shift of her weight onto her heels was her trying to put as much distance between them as possible without backing down. Jane supposed that he couldn't really be upset with her for trying to maintain control of the situation, even if she was fighting a losing battle.

Because once Patrick Jane got a smile in return from her, even if she hadn't literally smiled, he had won.

_There you go; hope that you enjoyed and that it was light enough after the last chap! Thanks again for your reviews and I look forward to more! On another note, I've been working on another _Mentalist _fic, which I plan on posting the first chapter of either tonight or tomorrow. I promise that I won't ignore this fic; it will receive my attention first and any day that the other story is updated this one will be as well (but not necessary vice versa). I just want to be able to work on a fic that's continuous as much as I (obviously, haha) love oneshots. _

_Love, Moksgmol_

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Mentalist or any of the associated characters or ideas. Also, this fanfic or any part of it is not to be used on any other site or linked to without the permission of the author. I'll more than likely say yes; I just want to know where my work is being posted and be sure that I am the one receiving credit for my work. Thank you for your cooperation and consideration  
_

Lyrics from:

Dolly Parton. (1977). _Here You Come Again._ Here You Come Again (CD).


	20. Breakable

_'You fasten my seatbelt because it is the law/ In your two ton death trap I finally saw/ A piece of love in your face that bathed me in regret'_

_Episode Tag: Red John's Footsteps_

The officer dropped them off at the CBI building late, glad to see them step out of the car and into the night. He nodded at Lisbon's cursory thanks, the first words either of them had said to him the entire ride. They had both been silent, her staring out the passenger side window and him looking down at his hands; the trip had been awkward for the man to say the least.

Lisbon watched the squad car drive off, Jane standing behind her. A light wind blew by, ruffling their hair and the edges of her unbuttoned suit-jacket. She squinted into the dark, her back to him, "Go home, Jane."

They stood in silence until she spoke again, "I mean it, Jane."

He still didn't respond and she turned to face him, meeting his eyes with a glare. She held out her hand, "Give me your keys."

He complied, reaching into his pocket and dropping them into her outstretched palm. She them grabbed him by the elbow and brusquely led him to his Citroën, pushing him towards the passenger seat before moving around to the other side of the vehicle. She sat down hard, closing the door with a little more force than necessary and shooting him another dark look.

"Your seat-belt."

He didn't react and she reached over to buckle it, growling. Once she'd fastened her own she popped the car forward with a jerk, guiding it roughly out of he parking lot. She zipped doggedly in and out of traffic, venting her frustration. Any other time Jane would have commented on her speed. Any other time she wouldn't have been driving as she was.

The jolted to a halt on the curb in front of his place and she killed the engine, turning to look at him.

"Get out."

He shifted his gaze to her, "You don't mean that."

She glowered, "I do."

He frowned, trying to read her face past the anger. He could see the residual fear, could see that she was still upset over the day though she was trying her best to hide it from him. With a flash he recalled her earlier words to him; the break in her voice and the glint in her eyes. It abruptly sunk into him how much she cared, what it was exactly that she'd been trying to say. He reached out a hand to cup her chin, his thumb gently rubbing along her cheek.

"Thank you."

She frowned at him, confusion apparent on her face. He gave her a little smile - not as big as his usual one, but it was honest and truthful. She could see the answer she'd wanted earlier in the day on his features: that he did want to live. As much as he wanted Red John destroyed he _did_ want to live more. Her hard stare softened when she met his gentle eyes, and she whispered to him, "Thank _you_."

He quirked up one side of his lips, almost reminiscent of his regular grin, "I said it first."

Her serious tone didn't change, "Then you're welcome."

He adjusted his own tenor to meet hers, "You are too, Lisbon."

And with that he stepped out of his car, giving her a little wave. She watched him in wonder, absently turning the key in the ignition, giving him a little bob of her head before pulling away. He stayed on the lawn until she was out of sight, turning to head into his house once she was gone. He wouldn't be able to go anywhere until she returned to give him a ride to work in the morning, which of course had been her goal for the night.

Lisbon made it around the bock before she had to stop, her body beginning to quake and forcing her off the road. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel, pressing her forehead against it, trying to quell the shaky breaths that were coming from her trembling lips. It wasn't that she'd almost died, and it wasn't that Jane had been the one to save her... he had _chosen to live_. He had killed their best clue, his hope of avenging his dead family, of having his justice in exchange for her life. She knew that it wasn't without thought; he was much too quick-witted to act without any. He knew exactly what he'd done.

She didn't know what to do with the information, wasn't exactly what she wanted to do with him or how they would move on from today; they had both bared a part of their souls to each other. But she did know that she was going to give it everything, _her_ _everything_, the next time they were on Red John's tail.

She owed it to Jane. He'd saved more than her life today and everyday since she'd met him. She could only do her best to do the same for him.

_Woo hoo! A fifth of the way done! Not sure on the ending for this one but I'm relatively happy with the rest of the ficlet. Thank you for the thoughtful reviews! Appreciated as always. To those of you who have commented on mistakes: thank you. I do proof all the chapters but I tend to read over them so many times that everything just gets read as it sounds in my head, haha. I promise that I will start going over the chapters with a fine-toothed comb every five or so to give myself some distance before a final read-through. I'm always just so excited when I finish writing them that I have to get them posted right away! Hope that you enjoyed; more reviews would be appreciated!_

_Love, Moksgmol._

_PS Hopefully a new chapter up for _Dangerous Games _tomorrow; thanks to all of you who have jumped on the bandwagon for that fic too!_

Lyrics from.

Ingrid Michaelson. (2006). _Breakable_. Girls and Boys. (Album).


	21. All That I Am

'_And I breathe where you breathe/ Let me stand where you stand/ With all that I am'_

"So, Mr Jane... ready to kill me?"

The answer came, cold as steel, "Yes, I am."

Lisbon stood behind her consultant, frozen, gun in hand, simply watching the tableau before her. They had cornered Red John in the basement of his most recent victim's residence. Jane had, of course, put together the pieces of the case faster than anyone else and had raced to confront his nemesis, dragging Lisbon along in his wake. Well, she had followed willingly, really; what else could she do but call for backup and follow Jane into the house?

That was how they had ended up in the dark room, a single bulb above their heads for illumination, Red John's gun trained on Jane and her own on the serial killer. Jane had no weapon but he had a wild expression on his face; he looked ready to destroy the man in front of him with his bare hands. They were all stuck in a stalemate; Lisbon couldn't shoot for fear that Jane would be shot; Red John certainly didn't want to do anything that would get himself killed; Jane couldn't kill Red John without being destroyed himself. It was the last scenario that she wanted to avoid most dearly but it was the one that seemed most probable at the moment.

Red John chuckled, the sound coming from deep in his throat. The noise seemed to spur Jane into action; Lisbon saw him tense beside her. It was in that moment that she felt the first traces of panic bubble up into her chest; she knew that if Jane attacked he would be dead before she could do a thing. Sure, she would shoot Red John, but Jane would still be gone.

Suddenly, in a flash of clarity and not a second too soon, she realized the solution.

As Jane lunged towards Red John she lowered her gun and leapt to the side, tackling Jane. His angry cry of rage was drowned out by the blast of a gunshot echoing in the confined area. Lisbon's dead weight pushed Jane to the floor and they hit hard; the air whooshed out of his lungs. Her gun clattered to the floor by his head and he grabbed it, swinging the barrel up and shooting. The bullet hit Red John in the centre of his torso; blood bloomed across the front of his shirt. He crumpled to the ground, gurgling, and Jane shoved Lisbon off of him to pull the other man's weapon away. He then stood over Red John's helpless form while he took his last breath, not able to find the words that would appropriately fill the silence.

An unfamiliar sound broke the strange stillness and he turned, the sight before him filling in the blanks as to what had just taken place. Lisbon had jumped at him, effectively pushing him out of Red John's crosshairs and taking the hit herself. He dropped to his knees beside her, hands flapping uncertainly over her prone body. She was writhing and panting beneath his palms; eyes tightly shut and jaw clenched; trying to roll onto her side and curl into a ball. He managed to force her onto her back and began searching for whatever was hurting her; he found it in a ragged red hole that was in her shoulder, near the edge of her vest. He pressed down on it and she tried to suppress a cry, her teeth clamping down on her bottom lip so sharply that she broke the skin.

He wanted to shush her but his mouth apparently disagreed, "What were you thinking?"

Her eyes opened the tiniest bit; her hands trembled as they reached up to grasp his wrists, "Self defense," she gasped, "If he shot at me you could kill him in self defense. He's dead and you're alive and not going to jail."

Her eyes closed again and she took a choking breath; he wanted to stroke her hair but didn't want to remove his hands from her wound. He didn't know what to say to her but his throat was too tight to speak anyhow. Police burst in at that point, shouting and clearing the room, racing to check on the casualties. Jane leaned his forehead down against her own and she opened her eyes at the sensation of his skin on hers; his tears on her cheeks; his shuddering breath across her face.

"Thank you, Teresa," he sobbed, "Thank you _so_ very much."

_Sorry that took so long! I wanted to post for both fics before the weekend but I ran out of time and I've been out recording an archaeology site for the past couple of days far away from my computer. And then I spent a bunch of time prepping for my forklift test tomorrow... bah. I have another chap written for _Dangerous Games_; it just needs to be edited. I plan on getting it up tomorrow. Hope that you enjoyed this one; I'm really pleased with how it turned out. And I highly recommend the song; it's truly haunting. Thanks for all of your support and I look forward to your thoughts._

_Love, Moksgmol_

Lyrics from:

Rob Thomas. (2005). _All That I Am_. … Something to Be (Album).


	22. Disease

'_You taste like honey, honey/ tell me can I be your honey?'_

Senior Agent Teresa Lisbon smelled of cinnamon, spicy and hot, but she tasted decidedly sweeter, a drop of golden honey on a warm day. He questioned the cinnamon when he first noticed it but the honey was palpable; it was smooth and oh-so-obvious on ones' taste buds.

That sweet flavor brought back memories of childhood; of sneaking from the sugar pot or licking the wooden baking spoon. The cinnamon that masked that sugary tang was the sting of a bee on a summer day. Startling but over quickly enough to not be much of a deterrent. Not for a man like him, anyhow. After all, he was grown now; the pinch from a bee was naught but a memory of times past, the hurt faded with the years. And he would put up with it to enjoy that delicious sweetness. Maybe a bee sting was the wrong analogy… it definitely was, but ah, well, it fit well enough with what he was trying to express. And oh, that taste… it was much more important than that distracting cinnamon scent. She wore the cinnamon; the honey was something more natural. More _Lisbon_.

And it was most definitely honey: there was no doubt about it in his mind. He had savored it; had savored her.

How was it that he, Patrick Jane, had come into this tidbit of enticing and surprising knowledge? Why, he had tasted her of course, his tongue dancing lightly across her silky skin.

A kiss? No, of course not... he was fairly certain that a kiss with her wouldn't leave enough space in his brain for him to be thinking about how she had tasted.

It was much more innocent than that, so much more normal than that. He had simply been acting his usual self, annoying her senseless, when she had clamped a hand over his mouth. Big mistake on her part. Big win on his.

He had licked her palm.

"Ugh, _Jane_!" she had cried, disgusted, yanking her hand quickly off of his face to wipe it on her pants, "What are you, four!?"

If looks could kill, Patrick Jane would be really, _really_ dead. Quite a few times over, actually. He just grinned at her, eyes twinkling, when she glared at him; thank goodness for small miracles. The sobbing widow that they had been questioning had stopped crying and was watching them, jaw slightly slack, lips parted a bit in shock. Well, Jane could only hope that they had brightened her day a tad; she wasn't going to be enjoying it when they arrested her for the murder of her husband. Of course, that may be in a while… Lisbon probably wasn't going to listen to him telling her who the guilty party was for the rest of the day. Or week for that matter.

Ah, yes; Lisbon. He refocused his attention to her; she was still looking at him with the strangest expression on her face… she was angry, appalled, and – dare he say it –a little amused? Perhaps the mighty Teresa Lisbon had taken a bit of a liking to her consultant. Or maybe she was just coming to expect things like this from him. Either way, he knew that she was a bit of a softie way, _way_ deep down.

He beamed. She was honey, really.

_Well, hope that it came out as well as I was hoping! A little bit of fluff as per request; it wasn't origionally going to be and I doubt that the next chapters will be (though I never know; what gets written gets written), so savor it! (like honey, haha). Thank you all soooo much for the reveiws of the last chapter; they were even better than usual and very thoughtful! And to Ebony10: I'm just finishing up my certification to work as a field assistant. I'm leaning more towards forensic anthropology. I'd like to work for the coroners service part-time on top of my current job. Art history is really cool too!_

_Thanks again to all of you and I look forward to your feedback!_

_Love, Moksgmol_

Lyrics from:

Matchbox 20. (2002). _Disease_. More than You Think You Are (Album)


	23. We Build then We Break

_'Oh, so you're sorry now?/ All is not well, it's not ended'_

Jane shifted the knife, twisted it in the man's chest; he watched as the life left Red John's eyes. The monster's body was falling away from him when there was a loud bang. Jane flinched, leaping back from his victim, and it slowly registered that the sound had, in fact, not been a gunshot. He looked over his shoulder at the entrance, discovering that the boom had been from a violently-flung door banging off the wall. Curious how loud things like that could be in an enclosed space.

And then he saw her, wide-eyed as a deer in headlights, face frozen in shock. Her hands were splayed as though unsure of what to reach for; her feet had stopped shoulder-width apart, ready for a stance that she hadn't needed to assume. There was nothing more for her to do; she had been too late; Red John was dead and Jane... oh, god, Jane. Thoughts swirled in her brain as silence settled on the room.

They were both still holding their positions when Cho entered with his gun tightly in hand, coming up short at the sight of his boss and the team's consultant. He pieced the situation together with ease, turning to his senior for direction, "Boss?"

But Lisbon didn't seem to hear him; she was just staring at Jane, face chalky white and breathing starting to hitch a little. Cho frowned, moving up behind her and putting the lightest of touches on the small of her back. She flinched at the contact, jerking away from both of the men in the room; her mouth opened as though to speak but nothing came out. Cho wasn't sure whether he should prod her again or give her time; he settled for the latter.

Jane watched her with concern; she looked so broken. He noted that she was going into shock; he didn't mention it, sure that neither one of them would be willing to listen to his advice. Instead he watched her violent reaction to the brush of Cho's fingers. The sound of her breath catching was too much and he let the knife slip from his fingers, moving towards her, "Teresa."

"No," she whispered, backing away from him. She felt Cho's presence behind her and stopped, "_No_."

Jane raised his palms, placating; blood ran from his fingers and into his sleeves; dripped down onto the floor, the sound unnaturally loud. He made a calming noise deep in his throat.

Her eyes widened, locking onto the red; her breaths started coming out in pants, shorter and shorter. Cho grasped her forearm, trying to draw her attention to no avail. She trembled, hands fluttering, before turning and pushing past her best agent, racing into the hall.

Cho let her go without trying to stop her, walking up to Jane once she was gone with steel in his eyes. He fastened the first handcuff much too tight; Jane didn't complain.

"She going into shock. You should probably-"

"Jane."

He abruptly cut himself off at the sound of Cho's voice; it was killing both of them to see her so vulnerable. It hurt that Jane wouldn't be the one to pull her back from the breakdown she was having, to be the one to next make her smile or laugh. It hurt that someone less than capable would be tasked with that; someone that she would be able to waylay. That she would just end up bottling this up. Bottling everything up until it broke her… unless Jane just had. Cho secured the second cuff, not bothering to raise his gaze up as he finished what he'd started to say.

"Shut the fuck up."

Jane did.

_Hmmm. Not sure; liked the premise but I'm not positive that it came out exactly as planned... mostly unsure about some of Cho's parts. Blah. Written in just fifteen minutes though and I'm really pumped to post since it's been a couple days, so hopefully you all enjoyed it and the wait wasn't too bad! Your reviews were, as always, wonderful. And more are, as always, welcome!_

_Love, Moksgmol_

Lyrics from:

The Fray. (2009). _We Build then We Break_. The Fray (Album).


	24. Knockin' on Heaven's Door

'_That long black cloud is comin' down/ I feel like I'm knockin' on heaven's door'_

Jane sometimes thinks that he's already in hell. His wife and daughter dead, practically by his own hand... where else should he be, really? He contemplates it on the couch more often than he'd care to admit, hiding the morbid musings behind a vague smile and golden curls.

If he is in purgatory or something like that then Cho must be the devil himself. Not that he thinks Cho's evil; the man's certainly honest and just to a tee. It's just that stoic expression, that black and white attitude that set him apart. That would make him the cold, unwavering lead in a dreadful afterlife. Cho could be the undertaker just as well as he can be an agent. Jane's pretty sure that Cho could do anything and not let it phase him. Well, maybe not anything… he can't see Cho driving an ice cream truck. Probably scare small children with that expression of his.

Rigsby is the sidekick, of course; he's always in that role. Enough comedic relief to distract one from their fate before Cho comes in to quash it. Jane's seen it happen enough during cases; Rigsby's the big teddy bear and Cho's the spider that comes out from behind him to get you. And by that point Rigsby is too busy getting enjoyment out of a snack or from mooning over Grace to pay you any attention. Loving the little things that get taken for granted while you're alive and that are subsequently taken from you when your life is over. Jane knows this better than anyone.

And then there's Grace: temptation at it's finest. Not that he's ever been interested in her, but she is a beautiful lady; he's comfortable acknowledging it. In a completely objective world Patrick might even admit that she's prettier than his wife. To boot she's quick and compassionate with a stronger than steel backbone. Her name is an unfulfilled promise in this land of loss. Jane doesn't miss the irony that she is religious.

And then Lisbon walks through the bullpen and breaks him from his thoughts, reminds him that he's not dead yet. That he has a job to do. That maybe, just maybe, he can still save himself from hell. He doesn't yet deserve a peaceful death, though he's wished for it many a time since his family was taken from him. But since he's been working for her he's been wishing for something else; not to die as he was, but just to avoid resting in broken pieces, forever unsettled. He doesn't think that it's too much to look forward to. If you can look forward to death at all. He supposes that he doesn't; he knows that he won't ever see his wife and daughter again. That thought reminds him that while his personal hopes may have changed his plans have not. He is still going to kill Red John, still going to make it as slow and as painful as he possibly can. He's still happy to go to jail and rot in a cell forever if need be.

Now though, for the first time, there's someone that he might try to avoid crushing along the way in return for all that she's unknowingly done for him. For everything that she does simply by walking past him on the couch every morning. Lisbon could be the devil, sure, and she can be temptation without fault, but there is something about her that could never be present in hell.

Lisbon gives him hope. She spurs him onto a different path of action. He can only do his best to succeed in not dragging her down with him if Grace is right and hell does exist.

_Okay, I think that I've spent the most time on this chap out of all the others (not combined, though, haha). Tried a bit of a character study and included the whole team a little bit more deeply; hope that it panned out for you. I'm not religious at all and I have no idea if I've messed anything up in that regard, so I apologize for glaring mistakes and to anyone I've offended. Next one-shot is the finish of the first quarter! Might try and give you guys something a little fluffier since you're always asking Thanks for the great reviews and I look forward to more, as always! _

_Love, Moksgmol_

Lyrics from:

Bob Dylan. (1973). _Knockin' on Heaven's Door_. Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid


	25. Without Reason

_'I do it on a whim, with no motivation following this line/ and I don't know why, but I've learned to capture time/ It's my redirection'_

It didn't happen after a particularly hard case or at the end of a long week. It wasn't due to the flash of too much skin during a heat wave or the sudden explosion of a deep passion they both possessed for the other.

It was a Tuesday evening, actually, the breeze just enough to usher in a cool night. She had gotten home less than an hour before, had changed into sweats and gone for a run, and was just contemplating dinner when the doorbell rang. She ponied her wet hair and answered it to find Patrick Jane, suit on his body; grin on his lips; and for some strange reason, flowers in his hand. He passed them to her, cheeky, before he did the unthinkable.

He _kissed_ her. Though firm and real it was quick; she didn't have time to react save for dropping the blooms before he was brushing past her and into the apartment. All she could do was stare after him, befuddled, until he disappeared around a corner. She closed the front door and gathered the flowers off the floor, praying that her neighbors hadn't gotten a show and telling herself that when she found him he would brush off the kiss as a way to distract her enough to enable his entrance into her home. She dumped the bouquet, which looked rather worse for the ware having been met the carpet, on the hallstand before heading off in search of Jane.

She found him in the kitchen and he smiled at her over his shoulder from his place in front of the stove, "Caesar salad with chicken okay? You can pick the wine."

She gaped at him for a second before moving; if he was going to ignore it than she could too... at least for now. Dinner was a quiet affair; Lisbon studied Jane across the table and though he seemed nonchalant she knew that he was doing the same to her. They cleaned up in silence, save Jane's humming, moving around the room and each other with ease. They ended up back in kitchen chairs across from each other when they had finished and she waited for him to speak. He didn't, just paused in his humming to smile at her, eyes crinkling, and she rolled her own at him.

"You want something or are you just planning on staying here all night?"

"The second one, actually."

She stared at him, "You want to sit here and have a silent staring contest all night."

"That's not what you asked. I believe that you asked if I was planning on staying here all night. The answer to that is yes."

Her jaw dropped and she was unsure of what words would exactly allow her to successfully quash his plan.

"They're waxing the floors in the bullpen tonight and they moved my couch into the hallway."

She raised her eyebrows, "What about your house?"

There was a sudden, tension filled silence between them.

She finally broke it with a sigh, "Fine, Jane; the couch is yours."

He gave her a happy smile before bounding out of the room, presumably to get ready for bed.

Seriously, how did he do it?

--

It was dark when Teresa woke with a start, whirling to hit whomever was sliding into her bed behind her. Her fist was caught by Patrick Jane; she gazed at him, wide-eyed, mind uncomprehending. He leaned forward, closing his smoldering eyes and kissed her for the second time. This one was longer and she found herself responding, her free hand moving behind his head to grasp his curls. Their clothing was removed piece by piece between kisses. They explored each other slowly; Jane kept his eyes closed while he placed kisses; she ran her hands up and down his form, eyes on him the whole time.

He entered her eventually and they began building towards a climax. It was neither slow nor wild, but some indescribable pace that fit them perfectly. They were silent with the exception of heady breathing and the rustle of bedclothes with each thrust; even at the peak there was but a gasp from Teresa. Patrick simply opened his eyes and smiled sweetly down at her, leaning in for another kiss. They curled into each other, spent, and he placed his warm lips against her neck, noting the sheen of sweat that covered both of them.

"I didn't have to see you," he whispered into her hair, answering her unspoken question, "I know what you look like. I just needed to _feel_ you."

She rolled over, pressing her body flush along his, legs tangling with his own.

He grinned cheekily at her, "Are you playing footsies with me, Agent Lisbon?"

"Don't try to distract me from what you just said," she murmured, playfully punching him in the stomach, "Just so you know, I think that you're-"

He kissed her again, effectively cutting her off.

She pulled away from him for air after a moment, resting her forehead on his own, their noses touching, "Yeah," she breathed out heavily, "that's it exactly."

_Woohoo! A quarter of the way there! And I forgot to say it last time, but over 200 reviews! Thank you, thank you, thank you! So my gift to you is the first steamy romantic scence that I've ever written; hope it's satisfactory and deserving of being the 25__th__ chapter. Once again: you're all wonderful and brilliant, thank you for your reviews and in advance for any you post for this chapter. I promise that I'll write to you all individually at some point by the end of this because you all deserve it!_

_Love, Moksgmol_

Lyrics from:

The Fray. (2003). _Without Reason_. Reason EP


	26. Kryptonite

'_You took for granted all the times/ I never let you down/ you stumbled in and bumped your head/ if not for me then you'd be dead'_

_Episode tag: Red John's Footsteps_

She comes upon him that night without problem, knowing that he'll be at the office on his couch. She doesn't have to come in to work but then again he didn't have to either; he's be there though, and she needs to see him alone. They haven't had the chance to speak since... well, since he saved her life.

He is on the sofa as always; she'd smile if the situation didn't feel so serious. He's staring down at the floor, hands folded under his chin, elbows on his knees. He doesn't look up when she pauses in the doorway even though she's sure he feels her presence.

"Thank you," she whispers across the void between them, her words hushed when they leave her lips but seemingly loud in the silence. He flinches, looking up at her with dark eyes.

She continues, "for saving my life today. You... well, I appreciate it. I know how much of a sacrifice it was."

They hold each other's gaze in the lull after her words and he's almost glaring when he responds.

"It wasn't for you."

"I'm sorry?" she frowns, honestly confused.

"I said it wasn't for you. Not really."

Quiet reigns again.

"He was worthless. Completely useless in my search for Red John."

"Cho would have gotten him to talk."

Jane shrugged, "I have no doubt he could have. Problem is that Dumar knew nothing. Even if he thought that he did it surely would have been lies. It may have even led us in the wrong direction, knowing Red John."

Lisbon paused before answering, digesting his words, "You still saved me. I know what it takes to shoot someone, and I'm grateful."

"I wouldn't have done it if he had been Red John." his eyes are cold and she isn't entirely sure that he's lying.

"But he wasn't. And I'd like to thank you for saving."

"Lisbon…"

"You don't owe me, Jane."

His head snaps back up; at some point he'd looked away from her and she's not sure when.

""The day that it actually is Red John... on that day, it doesn't matter that I've thanked you, or that you've saved my life in the past or that I've saved yours. I don't expect anything of you. Don't spare me a thought that day. If you want to make it out alive you'd better just be focused on Red John. So take my thanks today because one day I might not be offering it and you might not be deserving of it. I know that and so do you."

"I'm sorry."

She shakes her head firmly, "Don't be. I get it."

"No you don't."

She tilts her head to the side, "Okay, fine; maybe not always. But you've been clear and this evening more than ever I understand. I'm willing to let you do what you need to do. But realize that I'm going to do what I need to do too. So thank you for today and good luck in the future. I think that you're going to need it and I hope that you'll let me help you with it."

He nods, unable to speak, but she knows what he's feeling because she feels the same.

"Goodnight, Jane."

He bows his head at her again and she takes her leave, letting him spend the night with his thoughts and heading home to her own.

_Thanks for such great responses for the last chapter! Hope that you enjoyed this one too; more feedback is always wonderful._

_Love, Moksgmol_

Lyrics from:

Three Doors Down. (2000). _Kyrptonite_. The Better Life (Album)


	27. Ever the Same

_'You may need me there/ to carry all your weight/ but you're no burden, I assure'_

Teresa was late leaving the office that evening, which was not an unusual occurrence. The muted colours of the sunset were painting her desk when she finally pushed the power button on her computer, leaning back in her chair to stretch while the system shut down. She cracked one eye open to glance through her blinds at Jane, who was laying on his couch. It was odd that he was still around. She knew that he often stayed the night but he made an effort to leave most days with the team and to arrive after them in the morning to give the appearance that he'd gone home. Lisbon knew that it was a stranger happening for him to go home than to spend the night at the office, though.

She gathered her things slowly, watching her consultant out of the corner of her eye, wondering if he would be somehow gone by the time she reached the bullpen. He wasn't and she stopped, calling out to him from her doorway.

"Want a tea before I leave?"

He rolled over to face her, giving her a gentle smile and a raised eyebrow, "No big plans tonight, Agent Lisbon?"

She smiled back, "No. But you already knew that."

"Did I?" Jane asked, feigning surprise. "How about I just walk you to your car?"

"Sure."

He leapt off the sofa and grabbed her bag; she let him, the two walking side by side to the elevator. The door slipped shut behind then and their comfortable silence became slightly oppressive in the confined space. Lisbon felt the need to fill it and reciprocated Jane's earlier question.

"How about you? Doing anything tonight?"

He shot her an appraising look, "Oh, I don't know... maybe."

"Liar."

His neck twisted and he truly looked at her; she kept her own gaze forward.

"Sorry?"

"You heard me, Jane. You're going to walk me to my vehicle and then head right back in here," she turned to make eye contact, "Am I right?"

He didn't answer at first and she prodded, "Well?"

He puffed out a sigh as the elevator doors opened and they stepped into the lobby, "Yeah. I'll probably just go back in and have a tea or something."

They made their way out the entrance and into the cooling parking lot, "Jane."

His eyes slid away from hers at her tone but he didn't speak.

She reached out for his wrist to draw his attention when they stopped at her car, "Jane. I don't mind, okay? And I'm not going to tell Minelli or the rest of the team. You do a fine job of hiding it so keep it up. Just let me in once in a while to help you out. All of you are important and I care for you as friends, not jusy as my team. I'm always willing to lend an ear or my support."

He looked up at her and tried to give her a grin; it came out forced but was present nonetheless.

"Thanks, Lisbon."

"Anytime, Jane. Have a good night, okay?"

"Yeah."

She hopped into her car and he closed the door for her, stepping back when she started the engine. She rolled down her window, "Oh, and Jane. I got your favourite flavour of tea; that expensive one you like? It's in the bottom right drawer on my desk."

He truly smiled for her at that and she returned it before driving off.

_There you go; hope that you like this one better than the last It's going to be a two-part with the next chapter too, just because the next lyric in the song is sooo perfect. Thanks again for your reviews; more would be great!_

_Love, Moksgmol_

Lyrics from:

Rob Thomas. (2006). _Ever the Same_. ...Something to Be (album).


	28. Ever the Same 2

_'You tide me over/ with a warmth I can't forget/ but I can only give you love'_

Jane watched her SUV pull out of the parking lot and onto the road, his eyes following it until it was lost in the sea of late-night traffic. He made his way back into the building and to her office slowly; dug out her hidden spare key and smiled at the package of tea he found in her drawer.

_Hidden key,_ he thought to himself with a snort,_ a monkey would know that she'd slipped it behind the framed photo of her dog._

And he was smarter than the average bear... er, monkey, as it were.

He scooped the bag up and made headed toward the kitchenette to start the kettle. While he waited for it to boil he wandered back into the bullpen, adjusting the paraphernalia on Grace's desk and reading the back cover of the book Cho had just finished and abandoned at work. Before he could peruse Rigsby's belongings there was the shrill of steam from the other room. Five minutes later he was sitting on his couch, vapor rising off the untouched drink in his hands in wispy tendrils.

Lisbon didn't drink tea. It wasn't that she didn't like it, per se, it was just that she had never been able to justify the time and money needed to find a favoured type. She even took her coffee black. Didn't matter what brand; didn't fuss with the amount of sugar or cream because she forwent it completely. She had, however, thought it pertinent to pay attention to his habits. Apparently thoroughly enough that she knew the kind of tea he enjoyed only on tough nights.

He leaned forward to smell the liquid, closing his eyes in delight as the smell wafted over him. His thoughts drifted to Lisbon again and his eyes flicked to her door. Without thinking he set his yet-untouched drink onto the table and made his way down to his car for a quick trip to the corner store.

He was out and back quickly; a brief touch to his mug as he passed assured him that it was still warm. After depositing his package on her desk and shutting the door gently he was back on his couch, cup in hand, enjoying his first sip. Perfect, as always. He'd have to thank her again; she really was too good to him sometimes.

He drank slowly, allowing his brain time to mull uninhibited through thoughts. Mostly thoughts of her, really. One in particular dawned on him slowly but surely; he couldn't deny the truth in it.

He loved Lisbon.

Less than his wife and daughter, that was certain. But more than a friend… that was just as true. Somewhere in between that; some level that he couldn't quite identify. He didn't tell her – wasn't sure that he could or how to go about it - but he gave her that love every day. It was in little touches; in brilliant smiles; in annoying stunts that he knew she secretly found funny.

And sometimes it was in gifts like the one currently sitting on her desk. Lisbon's drink choices were simple but that didn't mean she didn't have favourites. He knew that she secretly adored hot chocolate but didn't drink it at the office because she thought it would project an unprofessional and childish image.

No, he definitely couldn't tell her how he felt - not that he was even positive of it himself - but he didn't want to scare her away or to have her shut him out completely. And as long as she was treating him so well the least he could do was to repay it in kind.

A drink for a drink; a smile for a smile; his love for hers.

_Once again, this chapter and the last are linked, but can certainly be read separately. Thanks again for your reviews of the last chapter; looking forward to more! Planning on a fluffly chapter for the next one and I've been working on the next part of my other _Mentalist_ story as well. _

_Love, Moksgml_

Lyrics from:

Rob Thomas. (2006). _Ever the Same_. ...Something to Be (album).


	29. Wordplay

_'Are you prepared to take a dive into the deep end of my head/ are you listening to a single word I've said?'_

"It's the uncle."

Lisbon shot Jane a glare, "And how exactly do you _know_ that, Jane?"

He shrugged, noncommittal, "It's obvious."

"To you maybe."

He smirked, "And true."

She added a growl to her glower, "Be that as it may, you can't just go saying things like that. _Especially not to the victim's parents and as such your accused's brother_!"

She was right up in his face, on her toes and yelling, finger pointed and jabbing into his chest with every word. She looked like she was going to have a throw down with him but he just appeared amiably, his smile infuriating her even further.

"Done?" he questioned when she paused to take a breath, panting from the exertion of getting sufficiently mad at him.

She looked scandalized, "No, I most certainly am not! Just started, actually!"

He held up a hand, "Can I interrupt?"

"You already are," she scoffed, "Hurry it up so I can finish yelling at you."

"What if I prove to you that it was the uncle?"

"Pointing out that he prefers ice tea over lemonade on hot days does not count as proof!"

Jane gave her a sceptical look, "What the heck would something like that prove?"

Her jaw dropped and she spluttered a moment before recovering, "You tell me!"

--

This had led them back to the uncle's house while the suspect sat at the station under the watchful guard of their team. Lisbon, still steaming, followed Jane around the house as he pointed out miniscule details about the man, seemingly everything but drink choices.

She eventually cut off his long and tiring list, "And how is any of this going to convict this man or stand up in court, Jane?"

'What, don't trust my judgment, Lisbon?"

"It doesn't matter what I think, what matters is convincing a jury."

"But you're admitting that _you_ trust my opinion, right?" he asked, flashing her his trademark thousand watt smile.

She scowled, "Just hurry it up, Jane."

He sighed, overly dramatic, "Fine, woman, here you go."

Reaching a hand past her Jane opened the cupboard, pulling out a container of crystallized lemonade. He set it on the counter before turning to Lisbon.

"You want to do the honours?"

"Why me? This is your little show."

"You're the one with the cute little blue evidence-friendly gloves."

She sighed, snapping on a pair and opening the juice, all the while grumbling under her breath. She gasped in surprise, almost dropping the container when she looked inside.

"Are those-"

Jane nodded, "Yep, the victim's fingertips. I'll bet you anything that you find her uncle's DNA under those nails."

Lisbon looked up at him, wide-eyed, "How did you know this was here? And why the _hell_ didn't you mention it before?"

"Well, I didn't know exactly where it was until you made the comment about the victim not liking lemonade. It just all clicked then."

"Clicked how?" Lisbon pressed, still baffled.

"Well…" Jane launched into a story, noting absolutely every tell and observation he'd made throughout the investigation until Lisbon held up a hand, her head spinning from the amount of information he'd just given.

"Okay, you know what? Forget it. Let's just get back and get this taken care of."

She led the way out of the house, pulling her cell from her pocket to call Cho, and Jane smiled.

He'd earned himself some free reign for at least a month; she wouldn't want to know his process again for a while after he'd spun her his latest case-solving methods. And Jane was planning on getting away with murder, pardon the pun, for the next little while when it came to harassing his favourite CBI agent.

_Okay, so my attempt at fluff ended up with a dead girl's fingers in a jar of lemonade… woops, haha. Ah well, at least it wasn't horribly depressing, which is something, I guess. Hope that you enjoyed and thanks for all of the great reviews you sent my way. They always make my day! I'm planning on getting the next chapter up for _Dangerous Games_ today as well; just have some major editing to do._

_Ciao for now, Moksgmol_

Lyrics from:

Jason Mraz. (2005). _Wordplay_. Mr A-Z (album)


	30. You Could be Happy

_'Is it too late to remind you how we were/ Our last days of silence, screaming, blur'_

He quietly slipped into her office. She didn't start or look up at him; she had been expecting him.

"You wanted to see me?" she nodded, head ducked still. How he knew instinctually when she wanted him she would never know, but she was grateful for it this time. She wouldn't have wanted Cho and Rigsby to hear the slight waver in her voice when she called him in to see her.

"Here," she said, voice harsh to disguise what she was feeling, as she shoved a piece of paper across her desk at him. He reached out a hand to slide it into place in front of him, pulling a pen out of his front pocket and signing it. He silently slipped it back to her.

"I'm-"

"_Don't_," and though her voice was quivering it stopped him in his tracks. She stood up, looking down still, hair curtaining around her face. Her shoulders were hunched; her white-knuckled fingers were splayed on the desktop; her breaths were shuddery. She trembled with a mix of anger and hurt. Jane didn't know what to say for once and so he simply sat and stared up at her, his own eyes reflecting her emotions.

Her chin suddenly tipped up and her glare met his soft gaze, "Just don't. You don't get to apologize and say you're sorry. You don't get to do any of that and I'm not going to tell you that it's all going to fucking be okay."

Her words were a hiss; the hairs on the back of his neck rose slightly at her tone, "You're right, Lisbon."

Something in her seemed to break at his words; it wasn't anything visual, just a slight shift in her face. Jane was sure that there wasn't anyone else in the world but him who would have noticed it. Not even another mentalist. She was just so... well, so Lisbon. So indiscernible.

"Grace is dead, Jane. Dead. Shot because you were too pigheaded to listen for once. And you didn't even have the decency to be there. You were off looking for what we both knew was going to be a dead end. They're always dead ends. And you left me there to hold her while she bled out in my arms. Left Cho to hold Rigsby back. You left all of us, Jane. You may as well have killed us all."

Jane stayed silent, eyes on the paper he'd given her. The document that ended his career with the CBI.

"I have to protect my team. I've already failed once and I won't do it again. If that means saving them from you, then so be it. I choose them, Jane. I choose my team every single time. If it has to be from you, so be it. So just… go. I don't ever want to see your face here again. I choose them."

Jane stood up, hands tucking into his pockets, expression carefully blank, "And I choose Red John, Lisbon. I choose my wife and child. Goodbye, Agent."

He gave her a nod, his eyes for once giving him away and saying what he could not. She had to fight to keep tears from her own as she nodded back.

And then he was gone.

_Woohoo, chapter 30! I meant for it to be longer or fluffier, but this came out. I had started with something else even, haha (it's probably going to end up being chapter 31 now). And sorry that this took so long. First my folks were out of town and then I was and it's summer and work's been busy etc etc etc, blah blah blah. Anyhow, I plan for more regular updates! Thanks for your reviews and I look forward to more!_

Lyrics from:

You Could be Happy. Snow Patrol. _Eyes Open (2006). _Album.


	31. Open Your Eyes

_'Take my hand, knot your fingers through mine/ And we'll walk from this dark room for the last time'_

The only sounds in the dark basement where the raspy, gurgling sounds coming from the man on the hard cement floor. He had long since stopped his painful writhing, had opted for his last moments to be spent glowering up at the second man in the room. His glare was cold and hard, the most steady, alive thing left in his body. He had tried for one last cutting and vehement insult but had only managed to choke on his own blood and had bared his teeth at both his unsuccessful attempt and the feel of blood running from the corners of his lips. His last exhalation was harsh, red spit spraying through clenched teeth, no inhalation following in the sudden silence.

The man above him was motionless but for a wince at the sight, a bloody knife hanging limply from his fingers. He watched the dying man's final moments and was still staring dumbly when the light left his eyes. His weapon clattered to the floor when it did, digits twitching at the loss.

The third member of the room was a woman, standing off to one side, a hand on the weapon at her hip. She'd holstered it once the first man was down and had since had eyes only for the standing man. Eyes only for Jane while she waited for him to look up at her. For him to step away from his fallen foe. For him to do anything at all.

It was a long time before he did, his gaze flickering briefly to hers before flying about the room, panicky. His hands shook before he clasped them tightly, wringing his fingers together as though to hide that they were trembling. She softly called his name and he returned his gaze back to hers; she gestured him to her and he complied. He slowly made his way over, picking his way carefully around one of the fallen man's outstretched arms. She assessed him once he was in front of her, running a critical eye over his body.

"You're okay?"

He nodded, eyes mournful and head slightly bowed.

She bit her lip briefly, "Feel any better?"

He shook his head.

She gave him a hard look, "You will. Whatever anybody else says, whatever I've said in the past, you... you did a fine thing. That man didn't.... You did right, Jane, whatever you're feeling now."

He stayed silent and she reached out, taking his hand in her own, "Let's go."

"What, no cuffs?" they were the first words he'd spoken and she would have laughed at the bewildered look on his face had the circumstances been different. _She'd_ surprised the mentalist for once.

Lisbon smiled at him, lifting his hand with her own, "No, no cuffs. At least not until someone else puts them on you, because I certainly won't be. I trust you, Patrick. This is all I need."

He cautiously returned her smile with a ghost of his usual grin before she tugged on his hand and he allowed her to lead him away from Red John.

_Thanks to everyone for your reviews! Wonderful as always and looking forward to any more that you lovely readers graciously send my way. Maybe something happy at some point in the near future, but no guarantees… just gotta go with my muse, haha. And I do like this one, especially the last little bit!_

_Love, Moksgmol_

Lyrics from:

Open Your Eyes. Snow Patrol. (2007). _Eyes Open_ (album).


	32. Bad Reputation

_'I've never been afraid of any deviation/ An' I don't really care/ If ya think I'm strange'_

Jane poked his head into Lisbon's office at noon, his face looking remarkably like a small puppy's.

She glanced up, ignoring his expression and quirking one eyebrow at him, preparing herself to be seriously annoyed, "Yes, Jane?"

He didn't let her daunt his mood, instead hopefully holding up a tattered old box, "Scrabble?"

She barely suppressed an eye-roll, "We're at work, and though I know that doesn't mean much to you, some of us try hard to accomplish things while we're here."

Jane frowned, "Who would that be? Oh, Grace?" he cast a glance over his shoulder before turning back to Lisbon "By gosh she is! Look at that! Must be because she's still so new."

"You know what I meant, Jane."

The pout was back, now accompanied by a whine, "But it's raining!"

"So?"

"You're supposed to play board games on rainy days!" Jane replied as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Right. Well, not at work, Jane. Anything else?" she was already turning back to her paperwork.

Jane scooted forwards, letting the door shut behind him and whipping the report out from under her before she could touch her pen to it. She gave a cry of protest at his actions.

"It's lunchtime, Lisbon! There are no laws that say you can't play Scrabble on your lunch break, are there?."

She scowled at him, "Fine. But in half an hour I'm back to work and you're back to whatever the hell it is you do around here."

He grinned at her, triumphant, "Consult, Lisbon. I consult."

"You annoy, that's what."

--

"Jane, that's not a word."

"Sure it is!"

"'Urgh' is not a word, Jane."

"I can give it to you in context if you'd like."

"Please do."

"'_Urgh, Jane! Why must you always get in the way!'_" he grinned at her cheekily, "I believe that I closed that case three hours and sixteen minutes after you said that."

She scowled at him, "Yeah, well, you still didn't have to go about it the way you did. If _I_ recall correctly you led our key witness into a warehouse and he got shot."

"Meh, he lived. Just a flesh wound. In fact, I'm sure that he's shown off his scar to plenty of admiring friends," while Lisbon fumed he surreptitiously wrote down the point value for 'urgh' on the pad of paper they were using as a scorecard.

--

"Hah! Qophs!" Lisbon crowed, triumphantly placing her tiles, looking smugly up at him, "Want a definition?"

"Nah," Jane blithely stated, waving his hand carelessly, "I know that it's the plural spelling of Qoph, which is the nineteen letter of the Hebrew alphabet."

She gaped at him until he said, "Besides, it doesn't count."

"What the hell do you mean it doesn't count? It's on Scrabble's list of words that have a 'q' but no 'u'!

"Sure it's in their official dictionary, but..." Jane trailed off a moment, lifting the book that was placed between them, "_this_ is the dictionary we're using. And the rules clearly state that we have to consult a dictionary that we both agreed to use. And _this_ dictionary, the one we're using, does not have your word in it. Sorry, Lisbon, I'm sure that you understand."

She scowled, grumbling at him under her breath.

--

Lisbon shot her clock a look, sighing in relief, "It's twelve thirty, Jane. Pack it up."

"But Lisbon! There're only five tiles left to be drawn!"

"Yeah, and the way we're going this game is going to take another five hours. I gave you the time I promised you. Why can't you go and bug the other three now? Or nap on your couch or something?"

"But you're so much more fun, Lisbon," his eyes crinkled at the corners, twinkling, "A promise is, however, a promise."

He gathered the game up swiftly, heading off without further complaint. She grinned at the closed door once he'd gone, quickly wiping the look from her features when the door popped back open to reveal her consultant.

"If it's any consolation, there was no way that you could have won. I was way, way too far ahead for you to catch up."

He disappeared as quickly as he'd arrived, ignoring her shout of _'Jane!_' and barely avoiding the pen she threw at him.

_There you go, something a little more fluffy. More updates to come and probably soon… I've sort of set a goal to have this finished by the time the _Mentalist_ starts up again, and since that's September 24__th__ there should be lots in the near future. And I've been working on _Dangerous Games_; sorry that's it's been so long! I think that summer's been busier than the rest of the year so far, haha! Thanks as always for your reviews; looking forward to any more!_

_Love, Moksgmol_

Lyrics from:

Joan Jett. _Bad Reputation_. (1981). Bad Reputation (Album).


	33. Look After You

_'When I'm losing my control, the city spins around/ You're the only one who knows, you slow it down'_

Lisbon came to slowly, furrowing her brow in confusion. She smelled... eggs?

She burrowed into the covers for a moment longer before her eyes snapped open.

Woah, woah, woah. Who the hell was in her apartment?

She rolled out of bed, grabbing her sidearm off the dresser as she went, wishing that she was wearing her bulletproof vest rather than a tank top. Wait, make that over, not rather than. She ducked around her door and into the hallway, sliding along the wall until she reached her kitchen door; she could hear someone inside. She leaned against the wall for a moment, mentally preparing herself before she burst around the corner. A curly blond head suddenly appeared beside her, right at eye level, and she leapt into the air with a scream.

Patrick Jane simply raised an eyebrow and smiled, "Good morning to you, too, Lisbon."

She glared at him, pressing a hand into her chest as though to quell her racing heart, "Jane."

"Now," he admonished, "that certainly wasn't the most polite morning greeting I've ever received."

"I could say the same to you," she growled. Jane reached out a hand for her own and gently led her around the corner, depositing her in front of a place setting at her table. She told herself that she only allowed it because she was still trying to calm herself down. Otherwise she certainly would have smacked him by now. As it was she unclenched her white knuckles, dropping her gun beside her plate.

"Did you bring your own plate mats, Jane? Because I'm pretty damn positive that I don't own any."

He smiled benignly and didn't answer, instead picking up a plate for her and dolling a generous helping of scrambled eggs onto it. He accompanied that with a couple slices of bacon and a tall glass of orange juice before gathering himself the same and sitting across from her.

She gaped at him, "Okay then, Jane. Skipping over the obvious question of how you got into my apartment in the first place, how did you make bacon and have the smell of eggs overpower it?"

He shrugged, "Eh, precooked. Just had to heat it up."

"You didn't cook your own bacon," she deadpanned, "Seriously?"

"Hey, I can't be perfect all the time," he joked, flashing her a blinding smile.

She shot him a look - something between a laugh and a glower - before ducking her head to eat. They'd finished and Jane stood to gather her plate when she put a hand on hers to stop him.

"Why are you here, Jane?"

"You booked the day off."

"And you couldn't spend one day without me? " she questioned, an amused smirk playing at the corners of her lips.

He didn't smile back, instead keeping his expression serious, "No, I'm here to feed you breakfast."

"That you certainly did. Why?'

"You wouldn't have eaten it yourself and you need it today."

She squinted at him, "And how would you know that?"

He shrugged, "It's obvious, Lisbon. Today is going to be a long day for you and you won't be very in the mood for proper sustenance."

"And why exactly is that?"

"Why is it that's obvious or why is it you won't be eating?" her eyes narrowed in annoyance at his flippant tone and he beamed at her, "Tell you what, just for today you get a special two-for-one deal. You, my dear, are always transparent. For me, anyways; I'm sure that your secrets are safe from your loveable but woefully unobservant colleagues. Second one is due to the first. I know that you have to go down to your parents' graves with you siblings who are in town today. It's a significant date, yeah? Fifteen years since your mother's death?"

By the time he had finished the anger had slipped off of Lisbon's face and was replaced by a strange mix of emotions. Jane tried to sort them out; none of them were positive.

"Lisbon?" he gently prodded after what felt like too many moments of silence. She startled a little, snapping back into reality and refocusing her eyes on him.

"What?" she looked confused and he took pity on her, giving her a distraction by pushing her glass a little bit closer to her. She gave him one last look before lowering her eyes and taking a sip; Jane followed suit.

Lisbon paused after a time, raising her eyes and looking contemplatively at her consultant. He met her gaze, silent.

"Come with me?" was the plea, "They all have their wives and... I just... I'm tired of going alone."

He smiled at her, glad that she had found the real reason for his visit even if she didn't realize it, "Of course, Lisbon."

_There you go; only mildly angsty. Did feel like I lost the thread a little after the first bit, but this one's been sitting around for so long I felt that I had better just post it before I forgot what I wanted to write entirely, haha. Thanks for the wonderful reviews on the last chapter. Looking forward to more as always!_

_Ciao ciao, Moksgmol_

Lyrics from:

The Fray. Look After You. (2007). How to Save a Life (Album).


	34. No Bravery

_'And I see no bravery/ No bravery in your eyes anymore/ Only sadness'_

"Jane!"

He heard the sound of a door banging against the wall from the force that had been put into throwing it open. Heard the skid of shoes coming to a sudden stop in the dirt and a sharp intake of air. He didn't bother turning around to face her; Jane knew that Lisbon had just raced out of the house much as he had mere minutes ago.

"Jane."

Her voice was quieter, pleading. He knew that she was wavering, unsure of how to respond, unsure of what to do. Knew that she had yet to draw her gun or to react. Knew that she didn't yet know _how_ to do so.

He stared down at the prone, bloodied man at his feet for another moment before turning slowly to face her, his eyes casting up and down her form. Her eyes were wild; her stance was wide and uncertain; her hand was caught between her gun and cuffs. He could see even at this distance that her spread fingers were trembling. That her whole arm was trembling. That _all_ of her was trembling.

A gust whipped between them, ruffling the edges of his vest and tossing her dark hair around her shoulders. His eyes met hers and what he saw surprised him for once.

She'd given up.

Agent Teresa Lisbon: formidable, always a force to be reckoned with, eternally ready with a witty comeback for him for just a start. And now she was looking broken, defeated. Looking like she had failed somehow.

"Lisbon," his whisper was lost in the wind between them, but she could clearly see her name on his lips. Her eyes dropped from his in shame. He didn't know if it was directed at him or at herself.

He took a step forward and she took a step back. The idea that she was fearful of him, that she had lost trust in him, was terrible.

"I can't do this, Jane. Don't make me," her words were quiet but clear in the sudden lull between breezes. She shivered all the same and he wasn't sure that it was from the cold.

He held out a hand toward her, a silent plea, "Then you'll need to pass me the handcuffs so I can put them on him myself."

Her eyes snapped up at his words, questioning. He offered her a weak grin.

"Couldn't do it. Now, are you gonna be the cop or am I going to have to fake it? I'm sure that I can handle it, but…"

"Oh, Jane," and the third repetition of his name was the sweetest, the relief it was laced with palpable. She rushed forward, collapsing into him, and his arms wrapped firmly around her quaking body.

He pressed a gentle kiss to Lisbon's hair, rubbing her back slowly at the feeling of her tears wet on his neck, smiling at her breathy mantra.

"Oh thank you, thank you, thank you."

_There, two updates in one day! I really liked this one; short but I think that it turned out well. Thanks for your reviews and thanks for any more you send my way! _

_Love, Moksgmol_

Lyrics from:

James Blunt. _No Bravery_. (2004). Back to Bedlam (album).


	35. Syndicate

_'Baby don't forget/ You haven't lost it all yet'_

Lisbon stood as soon as the man in white approached, hoping, wishing, hell even praying, that he would be as pure as a knight on a stallion. That he was going to grant her the happiest of news. The kind that, if she wasn't so proffesional, she would jump with joy over.

Standing was probably her first mistake.

He hadn't had to say a word. She had years of reading people and working with Jane had only taught her more. The man's face said it all.... he was dead.

Oh, god, Jane was _dead_.

She stares at the doctor, uncomprehending, while he speaks. She can feel herself beginning to tremble but her mind seems to be frozen. She can't think, can't move, can't react at all.

"Boss?"

The question is gentle, probing. She can't for the life of her figure who on her team has spoken, her mind so stuck that she doesn't know whether it's even a woman's or man's voice.

A hand touches her shoulder and brings her back to reality. It doesn't ground her, but sends her reeling forward instead, bile rising in her throat. She leans forward, starts to fall, but hands reach out to catch her. Vomit splatters on the linoleum at her feet. There's a sudden flurry around her and she's being pushed upright by too many hands. The world won't stop spinning, there's too big a crowd... she folds in half again to spit up more until she's dry heaving and tears are running down her face.

She's quaking now and tries to fall forward the rest of the way, to land on her hands and knees in the mess she's sure she's made but can't quite focus on. Hands press more firmly on her shoulder and this time she's upright before she's falling backward, landing on a chair. The insistent arms force her back until she's laying awkwardly on the row of chairs; a palm comes up to cup her cheek and another, presumably its twin, lays a cool cloth against her forehead.

It doesn't help. She rolls to the side to retch again but nothing comes up. The hand that was on her cheek runs back over her ear when she moves and rubs little circles on the base of her neck. It should be comforting.

Nothing is right now. He's dead.

She can't even think his name anymore. Her breath catches and she's hyperventilating. She can faintly hear people shouting and scurrying about; they're pushing a mask over her face next minute and she shoves it away with weak hands. They let her, perhaps satisfied that she's starting to pay them some mind.

Someone pulls her up and she's warm all over. Van Pelt, she realizes. The younger agent has pulled her upright and is hugging her tightly, pressing her torso into Lisbon's own, awkwardly crouched beside her boss. Lisbon's glazed eyes move past her to the male agents, looking at her with concern clear on their features.

It's not fair, she realizes. Not fair that they don't get the same moment to break down. Not fair that she's taking it from them. She's their boss, their lead. She has to be strong when they shouldn't have to be, not the other way around.

And so she gently distangles herself from her rookie, tries to send her a quavering smile that she knows looks anything but, and stands up.

She makes her way past the doctor and there's an unexpected wobble in her step. Rigsby moves in to scoop her into his arms before she can even register it. She wants to pull away, to stand on her own feet again, but letting someone else be strong for once is so tempting.

Rigsby makes a comforting hum deep in his chest. That accompanied by Cho reaching out a hand to brush her cheek and draw her attention does her in.

"It's okay tonight. Let's just go, okay? You don't have to be the boss, Lisbon. Just be Teresa. We'll take care of the rest."

She feels fresh tears welling up and presses her face into her biggest agent's chest, soaking his shirt. There's a cold sweat breaking out on her skin and she knows that she's going into shock. She decides to let her team take care of her for once.

Cho takes the lead and Van Pelt flanks Rigsby, walking as close as she can to him. He carries their boss, who's looking smaller than ever in his arms, out the door. They leave as both a strong team and a broken family.

_Not sure the ending was my favourite, but I really want to get this up before I go to bed. I really like the concept but it didn't end up being what I had originally planned on, haha. Here's hoping that you liked it anyhow! Thanks for your reviews and I look forward to any more you send my way._

_Love, Moksgmol_

Lyrics from:

The Fray. _Syndicate_. (2009). The Fray (Album)


	36. Ain't that Unusual

_'Now I feel unknown/ and it's safe that way'_

Jane knew that Lisbon worried every time a case came up that involved a young, blond girl. It didn't matter if the girl had been the victim; his boss was concerned whenever one even walked into the room during a case. It was easy enough for him to notice: there was always the brief freeze of all her muscles; the quick flick of her eyes in his direction; before she stuck to her own rules about personal privacy and set about ignoring him for the rest of the case. Or trying to do so, at least. Again, he knew her well enough that her well-intentioned attempts to give him space were just the opposite.

Jane knew that one of her biggest fears was that Red John would mock him with a little girl. Would maim a child with blonde hair and blue eyes to torment her consultant. Of course Jane would be bothered by it, but not for reasons that Lisbon would every guess. Just simply over another Red John victory and the senseless murder of a child, but certainly not because she reminded him of his own lost daughter.

Jane never saw his little girl in the faces of other children and as such was not bothered if they worked in proximity with one whom Lisbon thought may resemble his own. He had never shown her a picture so really, the fault was not her own, but still… no girl they ever came upon had curls just like hers, perfect little ringlets around their smiling face. None of them had dimples that he had liked to poke before tickling their cheeks; before scooping them up and whirling their little body through the air to squeals of delight. None of them had eyes bluer than the ocean or sky; eyes he had loved to watch close as he had rubbed a finger between his baby daughter's eyes and down her nose to coax her into sleep. None of them were her. Not one child they ever met had been as cute, or as loveable, or as perfect as his own. And so Lisbon had no need to fret about all the little blonde girls they came across though he found her concern incredibly endearing.

It was the brunets that were the problem.

It was the little girls with straight brown locks and deep green eyes. The little girls that resembled his dear wife. The little girls that people would have cooed over and who would have told him looked just like her. The little girls that could have been. All the little girls that would have been it he had not been such a fool. And though he cursed himself every minute for that he sometimes wondered if it was a child so unlike his own that would cause him to finally break.

Maybe one day he'd tell her. Let Lisbon know to be empathic in her own way when smiling, dark-haired beauties ran across his path. When children that could grow into women who looked like his wife appeared.

When children who could grow into women who looked like her appeared.

_There! Hope that you enjoyed this one; it's been tinkered with oodles of times and I'm still not sure it's exactly the way I wanted it, but I'm fairly happy with what I have now. Maybe some happier ones to come; I'll try at least. No promises! As always, thanks for those great reviews. _

_Heh, maybe it should be my birthday more often; two stories updated in one day! Love, Moksgmol_

_PS: I know that Jane's wife is blonde (I think that's what it was, anyhow :P), so just go with my artistic licence!_

Lyrics from:

Goo Goo Dolls. _Ain't that Unusual_. (1995). A Boy Named Goo (Album).


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